


Right Side of Rock Bottom

by TheKimberbee



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternative Perspectives, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language - I Like F Bombs, F/M, Gratuitous Song References, Mostly Canon/Fixing Disagreeable Events, Old Friends to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, Unapologetic Use of In-Game Dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKimberbee/pseuds/TheKimberbee
Summary: Hope County Sheriff's Department's newest deputy, Kenna Bishop, had a habit of running away from her problems in her youth. When the world goes to hell during a botched arrest, she's forced to confront one of those problems she never thought she'd have to face again. And this time, she just might have to say yes...





	1. The World Is Gonna End Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by my love/borderline obsession for the Far Cry 5 game, the amazing writers who have already written FC5 fics on this site, and by my GOS/S7 lovelies (you know who you are)! 
> 
> The story is mainly focused on my female deputy, and I've made up a bunch of back story for many of the game characters as well since I would have loved for them to have been a bit more fleshed out.
> 
> This is my first attempt at a fanfic, and the first story I've ever shared with anyone, so please be gentle ;)
> 
> (Obvious disclaimer that I don't own Far Cry 5, any of the characters other than my original characters, etc etc etc.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rookie is left out of an important strategy meeting.

“If you’re watching this, then you already know what’s happening.” He was running, terror evident in his eyes as beads of sweat from the exertion dripped down his forehead to his goatee. “Eden’s Gate is here. They’re real. I don’t know what they’re trying to do. They’re taking people. They have Linny, they have Sara. Not sure what’s going to happen to us, but please - don’t forget about us. Don’t forget about them. Come stop them. Please-” His next plea was interrupted by a single, high-caliber gunshot. The man’s face contorted in pain and disappeared a fraction of a second later, replaced by a mixture of dirt, dead grass, and leaves. There was no further movement on the screen. A different voice, muffled by the soil in which the live-streaming cell phone had landed, could be heard in the background over the man’s pained groans. 

“Do not fear, my son. You will be cleansed of your sins, and you will join me in Eden.” The video cut to black just after the beginning of a guttural scream.

Joey Hudson turned her head, eyes wide as she watched United States Marshal Cameron Burke turn off the projector and stride to the front of the conference room, his forearms finding a comfortable position to rest on the podium in front of him. Deputy Hudson and the other three members of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department who were present for this spontaneous gathering sat in stunned silence; if faces were physically able to change color, theirs would certainly have matched the forest green of their uniform shirts. 

She turned to her right at the sound of accelerated breathing to see Nancy, who seemed to be overly affected by the shocking video. Nancy’s pulse was rapid, visible in her wrinkled neck above the hand that trembled as she literally - and figuratively - clutched at her pearls. Her lips were pressed together tighter than the many times she tsked at Joey's plunging tanktop worn beneath her frequently unbuttoned deputy shirt. _Well bless her heart_ , Joey mockingly thought, imitating Nancy’s southern drawl in her mind. She was secretly thankful that the sexagenarian was past her prime and reduced to sitting in the dispatcher’s chair. Judging by what the video had managed to capture evidence of, Old Nancy had far too delicate of a composition to assist in this matter, whatever this matter would end up being; Burke had yet to explain anything. He had simply strutted into the building and introduced himself, demanding that Sheriff Whitehorse and any available deputies join him in this room. 

_The rookie should probably be here, too_ , she mused, feeling guilty for a moment - but only a moment - for sending her new partner to get everyone coffee. Shrugging the guilt off almost immediately, Joey reasoned that she would have plenty of time to fill her in upon her return. Caffeine was a must right now, unless they wanted to fall asleep soon after this meeting tonight. 

“This is your jurisdiction, folks,” Burke began, his pale eyes stopping on each member of his audience as he addressed them. “I don’t think I need to lecture you on the finer points regarding a little group called Project at Eden’s Gate, I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories.” 

Everyone who lived in Hope County had by now interacted with the religious group that had set down roots in their county several years ago. It was common knowledge that at the top of the hierarchical pyramid was Joseph Seed, dubbed “The Father” by his devoted followers. The Heralds were the next step down, and were comprised of Joseph’s brothers John and Jacob, and a mysterious woman named Faith. Not many other than Eden’s Gate members truly knew what she looked like, as the physical description given in the reports frequently changed. The only consistency in the reports seemed to be where the people had encountered her: in hallucinations.

The reports were sporadic at first, but became more frequent as the years went on. Each claim seemed to get more and more unbelievable as time passed: shady business dealings allowing the group to buy land and property they shouldn’t have been entitled to. Drug trafficking. Kidnapping. Slavery. Torture. Murder. Each time these allegations were investigated, Eden’s Gate was the epitome of helpful, going above and beyond to welcome the deputies and assure them said accusations were false. 

The most recent report had been initiated by a man seen earlier in the video, Mark, who was insistent that his sister Linny had been kidnapped. When Joey and Deputy Staci Pratt were sent to follow up on these reports, Joseph Seed himself had appeared with Linny. The mousy girl informed them she was perfectly safe, she had joined the convent willingly, and she was happy. Even when Joey ordered Joseph to allow her to speak to the girl without him present, her story didn’t waver. In fact, the girl had even attempted to convince Joey to join the project, clinging to her arm and telling her all about how ‘the bliss would set her free.’ Joey had a gut feeling that something was off, but ultimately they were forced to close the case as the girl had left home of her own accord. The brief investigations never led them to any concrete evidence, so no legal action had ever been taken against Eden’s Gate. 

“The U.S. Marshals have been investigating Eden’s Gate for years, shortly after their beginnings in Rome, Georgia. We followed their movements as they made the trek to Montana, their numbers growing larger along the way - along with the stack of claims against them. Before this video, we never had enough evidence to take them down - and it appears you didn’t, either.” Burke stepped from behind the podium and approached his audience, holding up a crisp sheet of paper as reverently as if it were a lottery check. “This is an arrest warrant for Joseph Seed that I personally volunteered to come here and execute. We’re going to arrest that son-of-a-bitch, we’re going to find out what happened to the kids in that video, and…” 

Staci Pratt turned around and made eye contact with Joey, who was momentarily distracted from Burke’s energetic pitch. “We?” He whispered, expression full of mocking indignation. “Why are we doing his dirty work?” 

Joey rolled her her eyes at his antics; his cocky countenance was constantly getting him in trouble. “You’re just begging to get your ass kicked again.” She whispered, miming the throwing of the object that had left the nearly healed laceration under his right eye. 

Pratt winked at her and smiled, his frat boy good looks on full display. “There’s no martini glasses in here. Plus, I’m not asking the Marshal for hate sex, so I think I’ll be-”

“Is there something you want to share with the class, Deputy?” Pratt grimaced, slowly turning around to became face-to-face with the Marshal who had lowered himself to his level. The senior deputy casually reclined in his chair, lazily raising an arm in the air.

“I’m just wonderin’ if this is so important, why you’re the only one here. This too small of a job for the Marshals to handle themselves?” 

Burke’s eyes changed, once clear blue skies were now dark and cloudy, impending storms. “This is a religious, backwoods cult in the middle of nowhere, Montana,” he spoke slowly as he emphasized each word, giving the impression he believed Pratt would have trouble understanding otherwise. “Trust me when I say my singular presence here is more than enough. I think the real question here, pretty boy, is whether you have the cajones to be my backup.” 

“Pratt, that’ll be enough. Stand down, Marshal.” Sheriff Whitehorse spoke for the first time, the air of authority surrounding him palpable. Though his place at the top of the chain of command had been temporarily usurped by the Fed for this mission, there was no denying his clout; he had the most respect in this room. He stood up and returned his large hat to its resting place on his head, the barren top and long salt-and-pepper sides both fighting for dominance of his scalp. 

Whitehorse had been a surrogate father to Joey since he hired her four years ago, putting up with her good intentions but questionable methods when she was sure that any other precinct would have fired her. She was also fairly certain he should have arrested her after she leapt over the railing of a witness stand to accost an overzealous defense attorney during a heated cross-examination. Instead, he had managed to paint her in a positive light when it came time for his testimony; she was traumatized, and this spiteful attorney had overstepped his bounds. She had been forced to check in to the department’s therapist for a few weeks, but at least she had managed to score some paid time off out of it.

The Sheriff had a tendency to see the best in people and notice their potential shining through the cracks in their faults. This carried over to his endeavor to find balance between the locals and Eden’s Gate, a line she had seen him walking precariously for years. Joey knew he’d be happy when this was all over; unfortunately, he wouldn’t be around to finally see peace between the cult and the locals. This was his last night as Sheriff. He would be retiring tomorrow afternoon, and moving to Idaho soon after. 

“Y’all may have investigated Eden’s Gate from the comfort of your offices in Missoula, but dealing with them personally is another matter,” Whitehorse began, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops under the slight potbelly that had developed slowly over the years. “They’re more sophisticated than you realize. It takes a careful, delicate hand, and I don’t think rushin’ in like this is-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Sheriff,” Burke interrupted, his mood matching the black of his tactical clothing. “I think I can see where this is headed. Refusing to assist in the execution of this warrant will leave me no choice but to slap obstruction charges against you and your staff. Now, you’re not asking me to do that, are you? We certainly don’t want to end this night with you in jail.” The two men stared each other down until the conference room door clicked open.

“Room service! Sorry I’m late.” Kenna Bishop announced as she walked in from her coffee run, balancing two cardboard drink holders filled with everyone’s orders. She sat the caffeinated drinks on the nearest desk and turned towards Pratt, hands finally free to brush back the sideswept bangs that had fallen in her eyes.

“Sorry Pratt, they couldn’t make your usual non-fat-sugar-free-no-foam-mocha-choco-latte so I just had them make the lowest calorie, girliest drink they had on the-” 

“Kenna, sit down!” Joey hissed. A rosy hue crept up Kenna’s normally fair-skinned face. The light dusting of freckles nearly disappeared into the blush as she looked around, belatedly noticing her interruption, and quickly sat in the empty seat on Joey’s right. 

“I think we’re finished here.” Burke grabbed the cup with his name on it and dumped it in the garbage can next to the podium. Before Kenna could voice a protest, he marched towards the exit, turning to address them one last time as he stood in the doorway.

“Get some rest. We execute this warrant tonight.” Everyone groaned as they, too, decided to forgo the caffeine jolt that would hinder the short amount of sleep they were going to get this evening. The five remaining coffee cups sat untouched in front of Kenna, mouth open in confusion as she watched Whitehorse and Pratt file out the door, followed shortly thereafter by Nancy, who began digging through her purse just before she disappeared from view. The rookie swept her eyes back to her left, meeting Joey’s sympathetic gaze. 

“What the hell did I miss?”


	2. He Doesn't Look A Thing Like Jesus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ill-fated helicopter ride...

Kenna raised the cell phone above her head, trying desperately to find signal in order to finish watching the video that she had missed on her pointless coffee run. _Middle-of-the-night arrests never go well_ , she thought, frowning as the time changed to 2:37 as she fruitlessly tried another angle to get rid of the “Service Lost” text currently flashing on her screen.

Whitehorse put a hand on Kenna’s wrist, gently lowering the phone. “You’re wasting your time, there’s no signal out here. Hasn’t been for a while.” Kenna sighed and put her phone away. She focused her gaze on the Marshal seated in front of her, examining the piece of paper granting him the authority to take Joseph into custody to answer for the charges listed in the currently sealed Indictment. Burke truly believed this was going to be a simple mission - get in, grab the preacher while he sleeps, get out. Easy as pie. Despite his confidence in himself at the very least, he had still outfitted himself in a black bulletproof vest emblazoned with “U.S. MARSHAL” in blindingly yellow letters.

Kenna redirected her gaze to the window of the helicopter next to her and gasped. At that moment, Pratt was piloting the bird past a giant concrete man holding a book in one hand. The idol’s unburdened arm was bent at the shoulder, palm reaching toward the sky in worship. She had seen it from far away, but seeing it up close was exceptionally chilling; its size and grandeur rivaled the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro.

“Jesus…” Whitehorse breathed. _Funny, He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus_ … Kenna drummed the denim covering her thigh with her gloved fingertips. _Pretty sure Jesus didn’t have a man bun, at the very least…_

“Who is that?” The starstruck rookie asked without taking her eyes off the statue, instead turning her head to project her voice between Burke and Whitehorse to the cockpit where Hudson was co-piloting with Pratt.

“A crazy motherfucker.” Pratt muttered under his breath.

“Meet Joseph Seed, _The Father_.” Hudson answered, sarcastically emphasizing the title. “Welcome to Peggie country.”

“Huh. Kind of thought from the stories he’d be… I don't know, scarier?” Kenna mused, mostly to herself. She had heard the stories about the cult leader, but never had an opportunity to see him - either in person or in photographs - during her short employment. Most of her duties thus far had been related to petty crimes, not kidnappings and murders. _Maybe this won’t be so bad, I can’t imagine a hipster putting up too much of a fight_ , she thought, attempting to keep her thoughts positive.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you; looks can be deceiving. I mean, his brother John is probably the best looking man in Hope County,” she began, ignoring Pratt’s mutterings about _second best at most_ , “but he’s a sadist, gets off on making people tell him yes. Worse than that, he’s a lawyer.” She shuddered only half-jokingly, prompting laughs from the passengers who knew of her infamous hatred for the profession. Kenna smiled to herself. Someday she’d tell Joey about her past in the legal field, but it would only serve to distract her now, and they could afford no distractions.

“Seed’s power is in his words.” Whitehorse agreed. “His followers hang on his every word, and do whatever he says. If he told them all to jump off a cliff, their only concern would be makin’ sure they jumped off the right one. Not too much longer and you’ll see it for yourself.”

“How much longer, exactly?” Burke asked, turning to Whitehorse beside him as he finally looked up from the paper he had been studying.

Whitehorse sighed, trying one more time to make the man see reason. “Just long enough for you to change your mind so we can turn this bird around.” After Burke had stormed out of the meeting last night, Whitehorse had attempted to talk some sense into the Marshal. He had no luck, however. Burke was determined to prove himself to his organization, and insisted on going through with the arrest. Without threatening the liberty of his staff, Whitehorse was forced to acquiesce to his demands.

Burke held up the warrant he never seemed to put down. “You want me to ignore a federal warrant, Sheriff? Thought we’d been over this.”

Whitehorse held up his hands, shaking his head in yet another defeat. “I just want you to understand the reality of this situation. Joseph Seed is not a man to be fucked with. We’ve had run-ins with him before and they haven’t always gone our way. Sometimes, it’s best to leave well enough alone.”

Burke folded the warrant and tapped it against the black leather covering his hands. “We have laws for a reason, Sheriff,” he replied. “Joseph Seed’s gonna learn that tonight.”

Whitehorse glanced over his shoulder to the cockpit, resigning himself to the reality of the situation. “Pratt, open a call with dispatch,” he ordered, simultaneously lowering the microphone attached to his headset to his mouth. The small black mouthpiece was practically engulfed in his ashy Yosemite-Sam-like moustache. 

”Go ahead, Earl.” Nancy’s voice came in over the headsets. She was the only one allowed to call Whitehorse by his first name, an honor afforded to her due to her age and years of service dedicated to the department. Joey told Kenna on her first day about the time Pratt had tried to call him Earl; he got stuck on roadkill clean-up duty for a week.

“We’re approaching the compound, Nancy. Over.”

“Roger, Sheriff. You, uh, still planning to go through with this? Over.” Kenna thought back to her interactions with Nancy over the last few hours. Just before leaving this morning, Nancy had pulled her aside and pleaded with her not to go, telling her this was no job for a rookie and begging her to let the more senior deputies handle it. Kenna had assured her she’d be fine; after all, this wasn’t her first law enforcement job. She had conducted countless arrests during her previous stint as a Deputy Sheriff in California. Nancy was obviously still spooked and was not reassured, giving her an almost excruciatingly tight hug as she told her goodbye. Kenna could still picture her milky green eyes filling up with tears as the rookie promised she’d see come see her at the beginning of her next shift and tell her every juicy detail.

While she didn’t understand Nancy’s reluctance at all for them to serve this warrant, she appreciated her concern. _She's just looking out for me like she promised Grandma Jean she would..._ she thought. Nancy was Kenna’s late grandmother’s closest friend, and was the one who had informed Kenna of the opening for which she was eventually hired. When her grandmother had gossiped about Kenna’s employment situation - with the best intentions, of course - Nancy happily offered to put in a good word for her with her boss, Whitehorse. Kenna had moved to Montana just over two weeks ago and began working for the Hope County Sheriff’s Department almost immediately, and had Nancy mother-henning over her the whole time.

Whitehorse’s reply brought Kenna out of her reminiscence. “We are, unfortunately. Still trying to talk some sense into our friend the Marshal, here. Over.” Burke smirked and shook his head, for once not attempting to get the last word in.

“Alright… he’s lucky I’m not there. If you get into any trouble you just let me know. And Sheriff… Remember what we talked about.”

Whitehorse winked at Kenna as he finished out the call. “Ten-four, and don’t worry, Nancy. No harm will come to the rook on my watch. Over and out.” Kenna groaned as Pratt snickered, pushing a button on the cockpit console, disconnecting the call and turning to Hudson.

"Maybe we should have brought Nancy along with us instead of the Probie, the Peggies wouldn’t fuck with her. Now we’re stuck on babysitting duty.”

“Pratt!” Hudson elbowed him hard in his side as Kenna waved her hand. “Hey, I’m right here, you know!”

“Why do you keep calling them Peggies?” Burke wondered.

“All these years you’ve been studying Eden’s Gate and you don’t know the answer to that? What else don’t you know about this group, Marshal?” Pratt teased, still rubbing his sore ribs. Before Burke could retort with his typical testosterone-fueled aggression, Whitehorse cut in.

“Project at Eden’s Gate. P. E. G. - Peggies. It’s what the locals call ‘em.” Whitehorse paused, staring out the window to the Montana wilderness below. “You know, they started off harmless enough a few years back. Friendly bunch’a folks in the beginning. Thought aptly named 'Hope County' would be the perfect place to set up their little church camp. Pretty soon tensions started to rise, they started buyin’ up all the land, farms and businesses that had been owned by families for generations. Lotta talk about threats, and bribes to the County Recorder’s office…” He shook his head. “Those days of peace sure didn’t last long. Now they are armed to the teeth, and they’re lookin’ for a fight.”

“Are you scared, Sheriff?” Burke managed to get a sarcastic quip in after all as he and Whitehorse began staring each other down again. _I swear, they just need to get the damn measuring contest over with_ , Kenna thought as she shook her head. From the short time she had known him, Whitehorse seemed to be a pretty docile man unless provoked, but Lord help his opponent if he was. It seemed that Burke had made it his mission to piss the leader of the Sheriff’s Department off - a mission ranked only marginally second to the actual mission to bring Joseph Seed in.

“We’re here. Compound’s just below.” Pratt’s announcement snapped the two alpha males out of their shows of dominance and back to reality as everyone glanced at their destination. It was comprised of a large plot of land, completely surrounded by heavy steel fence covered in barbed wire. Kenna took stock of the buildings; a large steeple, a greenhouse, numerous cabins and - were those cages? Several bonfires burned, the embers dancing with each other in an intricate waltz up to the midnight sky. Despite it being nearly 3:00 a.m., the compound was alive with Peggies, most of whom had stopped what they were doing and were pointing up at the aerial intruder. _Guess we’re not going stealth mode…_

“This is a bad idea.” Hudson muttered under her breath, spooked by the crowd. Even Pratt, usually self-assured and full of swagger, looked like he had one too many shots and was trying to keep his stomach contents in place.

“Last chance, Marshal.” Whitehorse made one last attempt to change the mind of the Marshal, knowing deep in his heart it was futile. Burke took a few moments to steel himself, staring at the floor of the helicopter, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. One final rush of bravado made his decision for him as he looked up, meeting Kenna’s gaze.

“We’re going in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're starting out slow, but I just loved the dynamic of the helicopter ride, I couldn't leave that out! Plus, I couldn't just jump from the strategy meeting to the arrest or beyond. It'll pick up from here!


	3. Everybody's Talkin' 'Bout My Tight Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet again...

Kenna squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the brightness glaring off of the peeling white paint of the church walls as she stepped inside, an abrupt change from the inviting warmth which the bonfires outside created. A luminous white light emanated from a large cross in the back of the room, falling squarely on the figure standing at the pulpit, giving him an ethereal glow as he spoke.

“Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you? That we are creeping toward the edge… and there will be a reckoning.” His voice was low and filled with authority, cutting through the distraction and demanding the listener’s full, undivided attention. Kenna was captivated as she made her way just behind Burke and Whitehorse up the aisle towards the speaker, the old wooden floorboards lightly creaking with each step.

“They will come. They will try to take from us. Take our guns. Take our freedom. Take our faith. But we will not let them.” Heart already racing, the beats grew even more frenzied as the faithful gathered in the pews begin to stand upon noticing the peace officers, shooting them angry looks and sneers. Kenna silently cursed the Marshal’s half-cocked plan, wishing her partner was there next to her. Instead, Whitehorse had instructed her to guard the front doors to prevent any interruptions from the riot forming outside.

As they grew steadily closer to the man, the glow gradually dissipated and the otherworldly figure was revealed to be Joseph Seed himself. He was shirtless, the dark tattoos and harsh red scars on his lean body were a stark contrast from his lightly tanned skin. Tight jeans were slung low around his narrow hips, mildly inappropriate attire for the prophet. The eyes behind the yellow tinted aviators seemed to be able to read her thoughts, beckoning her closer to him. Vaguely aware of three other figures standing in the very back of the church, Kenna was far too focused on the gaze pulling her like a rope to observe them more closely.

“Sheriff, come on,” Burke under his breath as he clenched his fists, his composure wavering when Whitehorse didn't move to immediately place Joseph under arrest upon reaching the front pew. “Hold your ground, don’t pull that trigger yet.” Whitehorse cautioned. While Burke’s intentions were to come in guns blazing, the Sheriff wanted to find a more peaceful way to serve the ends of justice. Burke was able to wait approximately five seconds before the last string of his patience snapped. “Fuck this,” he muttered, stepping forward and addressing the Father directly.

“Joseph Seed!” He held up the warrant for all to see. “I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward, and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Joseph slowly raised his hands, palms tilted towards the sky; the cross hanging from the leather cord of the rosary wrapped around his palm dangled rhythmically with each purposeful movement. His gaze - previously intense, now under threat virtually smoldering - seemed as if it would burn a hole through its target as he spoke to Burke.

“Here they are… The locusts in our garden. You see they’ve come for me. They’ve come to take me away from you. They’ve come to destroy all that we’ve built!” His voice grew steadily more angry, growing more powerful by each syllable uttered. A number of armed men stepped in front of their leader, glowering as they created a human wall to impede the progress of the lawmen. As the impassioned men began to reach for their weapons, Burke reciprocated. Kenna ran her fingertips along the barrel of the Glock at her hip, eyes darting between each of the cultists in front of her, tensely awaiting the repeat of the gunfight at the OK Corral that appeared to be imminent.

Joseph walked down the steps of the stage, putting his hands on his followers’ shoulders in a display of affection as he addressed them tenderly. They immediately lowered their weapons, and Kenna breathed a sigh of relief. “We knew this moment would come. We have prepared for it. Go, God will not let them take me.” The men grumbled as they acquiesced to Joseph’s wishes, clearing the way and allowing the ‘locusts’ access to Joseph. A bald man with an angry sneer on his face walked past Kenna, purposely shoving his shoulder into hers as he passed. The cultists shuffled by, shooting dirty looks as they passed; she turned back around to focus on Joseph once more as he lifted his arms to the heavens.

“I saw when the Lamb opened the First Seal, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say, come and see…” He dropped his arms, focusing his scrutiny on the Marshal. “…and I saw, and behold,” Joseph turned slowly to look at the Sheriff, “it was a white horse.” Familiar with the prophecies contained in the book of Revelations, Kenna shivered at the coincidence in the proclamation. Joseph paused before continuing, pointedly directing his piercing gaze straight into the rookie’s.

“And Hell followed with him.” He put his hands out in front of him as, reaching for Kenna’s face. Fighting her instinctual desire to take a step back away from the unwanted contact, she held her position, refusing to break eye contact.

Burke was the first to breach the silence. “Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch.” Kenna blinked hard, her facade of confidence wavering as she incredulously turned to stare at Burke. She glanced over at Whitehorse, imploring him for help, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and inclined his heard toward Joseph. _You’ve got to be joking, the Sheriff himself and a U.S. Marshal in here, and the rookie is the one to lock the cuffs? Is this some kind of sick game?_

She was torn. She knew her duty under the law, knew she was ethically bound to enforce the arrest warrant for this man. He had done terrible things, and justice needed to be served. Plus, she was still on probation; walking away would in all likelihood get her fired. Despite everything pointing her towards locking the cuffs around Joseph’s outstretched wrists, a battle still raged in her mind as something felt wrong. Perhaps it was a fanciful, unrealistic fear that this truly was a man of God; arresting a holy man in the middle of his sermon inside his church would probably be frowned upon by a higher power, after all. More than likely, however, it was the very logical fear that they were seriously outnumbered and outgunned by the horde outside, and faced a steep uphill battle to get out with everyone in one piece.

Hesitating, the rookie slowly stepped forward, nervously rubbed her gloved thumbs cyclically the hard metal of the cuffs as she considered her options. In the short time since she moved to Montana, she had heard many stories about how evil this man was; yet here he was, leading a sermon and preaching the Bible in God’s house. Sure, the whole shirtless thing, scars, tattoos, pants that were Jimmy Fallon song level tight, and holstered pistol didn’t help his holy man image, but he certainly didn’t look _evil._

“Rook! Put the cuffs on him.” Kenna flinched as Burke barked his order. His level of impatience grew, annoyed that she hadn’t jumped immediately at his initial command. He was unable to comprehend the battle going on over whether cuffing Joseph was a smart idea. Of course, walking into the church with the sole purpose of arresting him and then leaving without him wasn’t a good move, either. Burke had backed them into a corner where none of the eventual outcomes were positive.

“God is watching us, and He will judge you on what you choose in this moment.” She took a deep breath, willing her hammering heart to slow down, thankful for the gloves that were hiding the sweat pooling on her palms. Steeling herself for whatever eventuality would follow her choice, she locked onto a decision.

“I’ll just have to deal with that judgment another time. You’re first on deck for judgment here.” Summoning the last bit of confidence from the depths inside, she forced herself to look at Joseph as she placed the hard cuffs onto his wrist.

“Joseph Seed, you’re under arrest.” Rather than looking defeated, Joseph’s eyes seemed to light up, an ominous smile making its way across his face.

“Sometimes the best thing to do is to walk away.”

Kenna began breezing through the _Miranda_ warning that was ingrained into her mind - partially from the Sheriff’s Academy, but if she was being honest with herself, mostly from pop culture references from her youth. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed…”

She was interrupted by the sound of someone stifling a laugh; she frowned, wondering who would be finding any of this funny. When she glanced up, she immediately regretted her wandering eye. Too focused on the man in front of her, she hadn’t noticed the man lurking behind him in the shadows as she now drowned in eyes that were bluer than the Caribbean sea. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she stared into eyes the color of the hottest fires. Blue like he managed to capture a perfect, clear sky and trap it in his orbs. The kind of blue that Crayola would have a field day with. They narrowed slightly as hers widened in recognition. A heavily tattooed hand rubbed the neatly trimmed beard just below the all-too-familiar smirk that crossed his face once she finally registered just who was standing in front of her.

_You have got to be kidding me. Of course it's my luck that John-fuckin’-Duncan is involved in all this…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the Jimmy Fallon "Tight Pants" skit - that's what this chapter is named after. Yeah, I know it's not technically a real song, but c'mon - you've seen Joseph's pants. I couldn't _not_ use it.


	4. Smiling Faces Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smiling faces sometimes  
> Pretend to be your friend  
> Smiling faces show no traces  
> Of the evil that lurks within...
> 
> Chapter title dedicated to _Fucking Nancy_.

To the casual observer, she was completely focused on the animated conversations between the high-ranking members of Eden’s Gate gathered in the Ira cabin. As always during these meetings, however, her sharp mind was a million miles away. She typically did not attend the sermons, but as one of John’s Chosen her presence had been requested tonight. More of an order than a request, really. When John Seed tells you to do something, the only acceptable answer is “Yes.”

Callie never cared much for the Seeds and cared even less for the religion that they were spreading by force. She did however enjoy breathing, and had a keen sense of self-preservation. Several months ago she had made the mistake of using the Lamb of God Sacristy to attempt to rid herself of some rather excess baggage. When John had caught her holding the man’s head underwater, screaming mocking expletives about washing away his sins, he had not called the authorities, or attempted to cleanse the woman of her own obvious sins. Rather, he seemed intrigued by her methods, and requested she join Joseph’s cause, assisting him personally with the baptisms. She quickly reasoned that this was to be her punishment for drowning her abusive ex. It was certainly better than a long life in an orange jumpsuit or a short life ending with the prick of a needle. If serving the Seeds meant living another day, so be it.

It certainly wasn’t the worst life she could be living. She had her own cabin close to where the baptisms were performed, paid for courtesy of John Seed. The only rope tethering her here was her duty to assist in the watery rituals; she was given virtually free reign in everything else, including authority over who was cleansed in the rituals she oversaw, and who was too ‘full of sin’ to be saved. Just this morning, her old neighbor with whom there was a fair bit of bad blood had come seeking salvation. Cal gladly welcomed her into the river, pale knuckles blanching even whiter as she steadfastly held a fistful of frizzy black hair until the only movement was the rippling water. Proclaiming to her audience that the woman was too full of pride to be saved, she watched as the lifeless body floated downstream, one corner of her lips raised in a slight smile.

Her daydreaming was interrupted as Jacob threw open the cabin door and marched inside, followed closely by Faith and John. When Joseph did not follow after his siblings, the gathered Chosen grew restless. Paying attention now, she watched as Jacob strode to the front of the room to address the faithful. If the Sheriffs had indeed been successful in arresting Joseph, which his absence would indicate, her comfortable way of life was threatened. Now, the unsteady truce between Eden’s Gate and the locals would be shattered, and it would be an all out war.

“The Father has been taken…” He began, disrupted as a chorus of shouts and wails cried out as most of the gathered mourned their beloved leader. The moment he held up a scarred hand, the crowed quieted immediately. Whereas the Father commanded respect with his honeyed tongue, Jacob demanded it through fear and sheer intimidation. He stood a full head taller than most of the cultists, his flaming red high-and-tight hair and unruly beard standing out against the waves of duller hair colors. He was built like a soldier, and the burn scars littering his face and body belied that he had been in several combat zones.

When the voices died down, Jacob continued. “The Father has been taken, _for the moment_.” He emphasized. “His captors are weak, feeble; they lack direction. They will not hold him for long. My brother has prepared you all for this moment, you all know your purpose.” As the assembled cultists began shuffling out the door, John motioned Cal over, placing an arm over her shoulder and walking with her outside; she shivered as coarse hair tickled her ear as he whispered his instructions.

“I have a very special job for you, my dear…”

\- - -

_Amazing Grace…_

Kenna’s head throbbed, hairline itching uncomfortably as blood dripped from the laceration on her temple. Blurry images swam in front of her as she tried to fight her way through the dense fog surrounding her. She tried to piece together exactly what had happened after they exited the church, the memories like foggy tendrils, dissipating and disappearing as she attempted to grasp them, only giving her quick flashes of the past.

A riot trying to prevent them from taking Joseph. The chopper weighed down with Peggies hanging from the skids. Joseph humming peacefully. Eye contact with someone on the windshield. Red mist splattering. An unrecognizable form flying by. Shrill alarms, spinning, falling. Pratt’s unfinished warning, “Brace for im-” Blackness…

Slowly, painfully, the blurry images in front of her melded together into an unconscious Burke, blood streaming from a similar cut on his head, his arms hanging loosely in the air. Kenna groaned, realizing the origin of the pounding headache - other than being from an obvious concussion - was from hanging upside-down in the overturned helicopter for who knows how long before she managed to regain consciousness. Mind still spinning, she turned to her left to see Joey, her arms and dark braid floating freely in the space above her. Panicking momentarily, Kenna was immensely relieved when she saw Hudson’s chest rising and falling as she took shallow, labored breaths. In the cockpit, Pratt and Whitehorse were in the same predicament as well. Sparks flew around the outside of the helicopter, igniting some of the vegetation surrounding the aerial vehicle and sending plumes of harsh acrid smoke skyward.

_How sweet the sound…_

“Come in… this is Nancy, is everything OK…? Please, are you there, Sheriff? Deputy Hudson? Kenna, please, anyone…”

She stared numbly, finally realizing that she was not hallucinating at least one of the voices she was currently hearing in her head. Kenna focused on the headset swinging freely next to Burke’s head where Joseph Seed should have been sitting. _He must have been thrown out when we crashed - c’est la vie_ , she thought, stretching an arm out and cursing both her deficient wingspan and the sharp protest her ribs gave as she reached forward, falling short. She tried to unbuckle the seatbelt keeping her harnessed to the overturned seat, but the buckle was stuck. After several moments of struggling and painfully failing to reach the headset, it was finally in her grasp. She let out a small cry of victory, a single tear trickling up to her forehead as she held in her hands the instrument that she was sure would save them.

_That saved a wretch…_

As she brought the headset closer to her face, struggling to come up with a coherent sentence, a hand darted out from outside the helicopter. The appendage locked onto her wrist, preventing her from moving, blocking her from communicating the desperate situation they were in. There in front of her, much to her disbelief, was a relatively unharmed Joseph Seed. He had a few minor scrapes and cuts, but was somehow otherwise unscathed from the violent crash. Kenna couldn’t believe her eyes; it should not have been possible for him to be so uninjured. It was almost like he had some type of supernatural protection… Or divine intervention… She quickly shook the thought from her mind.

“Like me…” He finished, singing softly as his eyes, less of a vivid blue but still reminiscent of John’s, bore intensely into hers. Just as he did back in the church, he seemed to be searching her soul, judging whether she was worthy of being saved. “I told you that God wouldn’t let you take me.” Shivering as he whispered in her ear, Kenna frantically tried to wrench herself from Joseph’s strong grip, but was unsuccessful. Joseph held onto her wrists for several long moments, squeezing it tightly just below the point of causing pain, seeming to want to ensure she felt a sense of powerlessness before prying the headset from her fingers.

“God didn’t do this.” Kenna narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what kind of brainwashing you’ve got going on at that church of yours to make someone willingly throw themselves headfirst into moving helicopter blades, but this is the product of that, not of some higher power.”

Joseph smiled and shook his head, as if she were a petulant child angrily declaring the sky was purple. “My child, lean not on your own understanding. The Lord has a purpose for all of us, even you. Your purpose remains to be seen, but his…” He gestured towards the stained, cracked windshield. “…Well. His purpose has been fulfilled.” The headset cracked with another of Nancy’s impassioned pleas for a response, drawing his attention away from the restrained deputy.

“Dispatch,” he replied, maintaining eye contact as he brought the microphone up to his face. “Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.” It was Kenna’s turn to smile. Once Nancy realized who was responding, and realized that she was unable to get ahold of her co-workers, she would be sure to send in the National Guard. _Joseph got lucky with the crazy guy with the deathwish; we’ll see if he’s got enough luck left over to stop the military from taking him in._

“Yes, Father. Praise be to you.” As her brows furrowed in confusion, the smile was quickly wiped from her face. A cold chill spread from her heart throughout her body, stretching to her toes as recognition slammed into her like a wave crest several moments later.

_She knew_ , Kenna realized in horror. How upset Nancy was after Cameron Burke announced Joseph Seed would be placed under arrest. Digging through her purse for her cell phone immediately after the meeting. Begging her not to go on this mission. The tears when Kenna told her goodbye. _She knew she’d never see me again._ The only judicious thought Kenna could string together in her mixture of despair and rage were two simple words: _Fucking Nancy._

Joseph crept forward until his face was mere inches from hers, the thick, warm breath on her face a further insult to her crumbling morale. “No one is coming to save you.” He stated matter-of-factly, thick hairs brushing the side of her cheek as he whispered in her ear.

“Why are you doing this?” Kenna asked quietly, shuddering as Joseph ran the back of his index finger tenderly down her cheek. “This is not my doing, I am simply a messenger, doing God’s will. Everything that happens now is a part of His greater plan…” He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “I told you to walk away, I gave you a choice. Now it is time to deal with the consequences of your actions.” He studied her, smiling one last time. “Until next time, my child.” He turned and climbed under Hudson’s dangling body, walking towards a group of faithful that had tracked and located the fallen bird. The followers rushed to embrace him, overjoyed to see him alive and relatively uninjured. Joseph grasped their hands, returning their affection as he spoke to them in hushed tones.

While Joseph was distracted, Kenna reached over and shook Hudson’s arm, wincing as her bruised ribs pounded in agony. “Joey, come on, wake up! We have to go, we have to go now!” As her partner started to slowly stir, Kenna glanced past her as rapid movement caught her eye; Joseph had leapt on the hood of the white cult truck that had transported his followers here, addressing his audience. “The First Seal has been broken. The Collapse has begun.” Joseph’s voice boomed, ringing in the still night air, rousing the other overturned passengers out of their respective unconsciousness. “We will take what we need, we will preserve what we have, and we will kill all those who stand in our way.” He paused, pointing at the helicopter. “And these harbingers of doom will see the truth.”

Lifting his arms to the sky, Joseph shouted a short but powerful edict, his voice echoing in the clear Montana sky as he issued his proclamation that sent chills down Kenna's spine. 

“Begin the reaping!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to post, for those of you that are actually following! Crazy life stuff got in the way. I promise the chapters will come more quickly after this!
> 
> On another note - I'm honestly amazed at how many have read this. 150 people!! It's not a lot compared to some of the more popular works, but I'm blown away. I really thought it would only reach the few people I set out to write it for. You are all amazing!


	5. Head Above Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Burke.

Leaves crunched under his black boots, and tree branches swiped at his face and exposed forearms as he raced through the dense foliage, bullets flying by from the cultists chasing him. He was lean and fit from his years in law enforcement and easily outpaced them as he weaved through the boulders and tree trunks off the beaten path. Thankfully he also had a head start; they’d likely be more preoccupied with capturing the rookie, who was still struggling to free herself from her harness when he had bolted. _Better her than me_ , he reasoned, thankful that her struggle had no doubt granted him the distraction he needed to get away.

After all, he was Cameron Burke, United States Deputy Federal Marshal. He was an important man who was going places, moving on up the ladder at the Marshal's office; or at least, that had been the plan before everything went sideways. This was supposed to be his big break, his chance to prove himself and get away from the monotonous (and in his mind, frankly pointless) duty of protecting the U.S. Secretary of Education. When the opportunity arose, he had quickly volunteered to oversee the arrest of Joseph Seed, one of the 15 Most Wanted Fugitives, sure that it would prove his salt as a marshal and allow him an entry into the Special Operations Group. Instead, Murphy’s law reared its ugly head, and everything that could go wrong, did; the hunter was now the hunted.

As he burst through the brush, he came upon a long, wooden bridge leading to a trailer. A campfire burned in front, but after watching from behind a large for sale sign propped against the bridge, he saw no movement. He reached for his cell phone and cursed when his pocket was empty, realizing it must have been lost in the crash. Even if he had managed to hold onto it, he remembered Whitehorse stating that there was no cell phone signal out here, and it would not have helped him, anyway. Thinking on his feet, he pulled out his handheld radio that had been loaned to him by the Sheriff’s Department that had bungled his mission.

“Hello? Anyone hearing me? It’s Burke… I think I lost them. I see a trailer nearby. It’s next to a long bridge. I’m gonna try to get inside. If anyone’s still out there… If anyone’s still alive…” He trailed off, realizing the mistake he had just made. Sure, his radio transmission might reach one of the deputies had they been lucky enough to escape, but it also may have alerted the members of Eden’s Gate if they were somehow tuned to this frequency. Considering everything else that had gone wrong this morning, he couldn’t discount that as a possibility. As he entered the old trailer, he decided to quickly case the residence and take anything that would be helpful. There was a truck out front; he could load it up with supplies, and get out of this hillbilly county.

He had just closed the door behind him and taken about three steps towards the middle of the trailer when he heard movement just outside. _Shit, I’ve led them right to me. Stupid!_ He chided himself as he flattened his body besides the door. The Marshal knew he didn’t have enough time to grab a weapon, and would just have to improvise. As a shadowy figure slowly made its way inside, Burke took advantage of the element of surprise and leapt in front of them, closing his hands around their throat and squeezing as hard as he could. Seconds later, realization washed over him as he glared down at a familiar face. Quickly letting go, he stumbled backwards.

“What the fuck, Burke!” She coughed, wincing as she inhaled the desperately needed air and gingerly rubbed the red marks that had begun forming around her neck. “Jesus Christ, Rook, I’m sorry. I thought you were one of them, I thought they got you…” He bent over at the waist, grasping his knees and breathing heavily as the shock of having nearly murdered the rookie slowly ebbed. His reflection in her black aviator sunglasses hanging off of the front of her shirt showed a haunted man, and he swiftly tried to neutralize his facial expression.

“Yeah, well, they didn’t, no thanks to you.” Kenna muttered angrily under her breath, walking with him as they cleared the trailer, making their way to the main room. Burke leaned on a wooden half-wall divider, the veneer of confidence he had worked so hard to portray in front of these people was completely broken. The marshal may not have always had the most difficult or glamorous assignments during his career, but he never failed them. He honestly wasn’t sure what upset him more, Joseph Seed getting the better of him, or having this nobody rookie see him at his lowest.

“Fuck!” He yelled, his frustration getting the best of him as he grabbed the portrait hanging on the wall and threw it on the table, shattering the protective glass. “We’re putting this whole family away. All of ‘em. Fucking lunatics!” He turned away in another attempt to compose himself, ignoring the strained look on Kenna’s face as she stared at the Seed family portrait. “We’re going to get out of this, Rookie.” Taking a deep breath, he strode towards the rifle rack hanging on the wall. “First thing’s first, we’ve gotta arm ourselves…” He considered the two weapons on the wall, debating which weapon to give to Kenna. _She’s gonna need all the help she can get, fuckin’ rookie_ , he thought as he handed the more powerful AR-C rifle to her, and picked the 1911 pistol for himself. “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna head Northeast, it’s probably only a few hours back to Missoula. And then we’re gonna come back here with the goddamn National Guard, and we’re gonna take out the rest of this-” 

“They’re in there!” 

The next few minutes were chaotic as Burke and Kenna were forced to fight their way out of the trailer and to a white pickup truck parked outside. He’d die before admitting it to her, of course, but he was actually impressed by Kenna’s firearm expertise. She had provided cover for him to get the truck started, managing to take down at least ten of the crazed followers. Now she was leaning out the passenger seat, picking off the cultists that chased after them as Burke sped down the dirt path. He braced himself as he accelerated towards the chainlink gate.

“Up ahead, hold on!” Burke cried. After swerving onto the freeway, he turned to look at Kenna, figuring _some_ praise was warranted under the circumstances, even though he was suspicious that she just got lucky with her shots. “Nice work back there, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you."

Kenna snorted. “I'd appreciate you remembering that the next time you consider leaving me for dead.” Burke clenched his fists around the steering wheel, pointedly ignoring her barb as he focused on the path ahead. Now was not the time to argue with her; when they were safely in Missoula, he'd be sure to have a chat with her superiors about her insolence - whether that be Whitehorse or his replacement the Sheriff didn't make it back, it didn't matter. Either way, she'd be dealt with and he'd be free of her, moving up the proverbial ladder.

“We gotta get back, but we gotta be smart. We don’t know who we can trust. Fucking Nancy…” The two drove along in silence as Kenna kept an eye out for cultists following them. "Behind us!" Burke cried out in warning. As a duo on an ATV rounded the corner behind them, she pegged the driver in the shoulder, causing him to fall off and bring his passenger down with him. In fact, Burke realized, many of the shots he had seen her take seemed designed to injure the target, not kill; Burke frowned as he processed that information, taking a sharp right in order to get them off of the main road. The vehicle crashed through a wooden fence, swerving recklessly around boulders and trees.

His brooding was broken as an unfamiliar noise above caused him to look towards the sky, his heart dropping in his stomach as the source came into view. ”Is that a fuckin’ plane!? Don’t you tell me they have fuckin’ air support!” He swerved hard to the left to avoid the storm of gunfire from the plane. With nowhere else to go, he was corralled onto the Henbane River Bridge as the plane made a wide circle around to come back.

A well-placed bomb from the plane landed directly in front of the truck, blowing the bridge to pieces. Burke’s eyes widened as the truck became airborne, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Everything happened in slow motion; every movement he made felt as though he were fighting his way through gelatin as the truck inched its way towards the water below. Once the front of the vehicle impacted the water, time jolted back to regular speed. Water began quickly filling the cab of the truck, and the Marshal took a deep breath of precious air as he tried to force the jammed door handle open. He cursed his string of bad luck, pulling his commandeered pistol out from its holster and using it to bash the windshield to create a path to freedom.

As he turned to unbuckle his seatbelt, his eyes momentarily landed on Kenna desperately reaching one hand towards him, her eyes pleading for help as her other hand worked to unbuckle herself. _Sorry, kid, nothing personal. At least it’s not a burning helicopter this time_. He turned his gaze up and kicked hard towards the surface, focusing on avoiding the wreckage sinking downard from the destroyed bridge. As he grew ever closer to freedom, the enraged face of the rookie he had now twice left to die disappeared from his mind, forgotten at the bottom of the river.

\- - -

As the blackness closed in again, the whorl of churning shapes suspiciously looking like a man's figure reaching for her, her final thoughts were two simple words, a sense of déjà vu overtaking her:  _Fucking Burke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short, but the next one will be much longer once it's finalized. For this chapter, I thought it would be fun to peek in on the mind of my headcanon Burke! In case it isn't obvious, I think he's a weasel. ;)


	6. Rescue Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repaying her rescuer, questioning her role in this mess, and coming to terms with what she feared to be true...

“My children, we must give thanks to God. The day I have prophesied to you has arrived. Everything I’ve told you has come true…” Joseph Seed’s voice brought her out of the blackness. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the speaker, jerking backwards only to hiss in pain when she felt a sharp bite into her wrists, preventing her from moving. As her vision focused, her terror intensified when she saw the zip ties restraining her to the end of the metal bed frame. “The authorities who tried to take me from you are now in the loving embrace of my family… save for one. But this wayward soul will be found. She will be punished… And in the end, she will see our glorious purpose. I am your Father. You are my Children. And together, we will march to-”

There was a click and the voice abruptly stopped. Kenna’s head snapped up from her restraints, her vision settling on the man standing in front of the now silent radio. The muted luminescent lights from overhead reflected off the back of his bare scalp as he stared forward at a large American flag hanging from the wall. He turned his head around as he heard his captive struggling to get free.

“You know what that shit means?” He slowly walked over to sit in the chair positioned in front of her. “It means the roads have all been closed. It means the phone lines have been cut. It means there’s no signals getting in or out of this valley. But mostly, it means we’re all fucked.” His lips pursed together as he glared angrily down at Kenna. After a few seconds of staring her down, the man sighed, his expression softening slightly as he continued. “The goddamn ‘Collapse’… They all think the world’s coming to an end now. They’ve been waiting for it for years. Waiting for somebody to come along and fulfill their prophecy and kick off their goddamn Holy War… Well you sure as shit kicked.” The accusing glare returned as he studied her.

She shifted her position on the hard concrete floor in an attempt to get more comfortable, debating her words carefully as she hoped to downplay her role in the events that had led her to this position. “For what it’s worth, none of this was my idea. Hell, I wasn’t even present for the discussion when it was decided we’d be coming here.” She stared straight ahead at the bed frame she had been chained to. “The rookie wasn’t important enough to be part of the strategy meeting, but apparently was good enough to be handed the keys to open the gates of Hell… ” She laughed bitterly, trailing off as she lifted her eyes from the paint chipping off of the frame up to her captor. “So, now what? Where do we go from here?”

He stared at her, conflict evident in his eyes he debated his next steps. “The smartest thing for me to do would just be to hand you over.” 

Kenna’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand. Why would that be the smartest thing to do?” He stood up quickly, removing a large bowie knife from his belt.

“The cult wants you. You’re the one that got away - you heard Joseph just now,” he gestured towards the radio, “you’re the ‘wayward soul’ that needs to be saved. They’ve been tearin’ through my island lookin’ for you, and it’s been real difficult for me to keep off their radar.” As he leaned in closer she averted her eyes, unsure of what he was planning to do to her but sure it would not be pleasant. _I love you, Sammi..._ Expecting pain, she was pleasantly surprised as the blade cut through her nylon cuffs. He stood over her with a conflicted expression, watching as she rubbed her sore wrists. “Get out of that uniform, we need to burn it,” he barked. “When you get changed, you come and see me. We’ll see if we can un-fuck this situation.”

Once Dutch walked through the door and left her alone, Kenna turned her attention to the locker in which he had indicated clothing could be found. After pawing through numerous shirts, she pulled out a black tanktop, soft purple flannel shirt, a pair of faded blue skinny jeans, and black hiking boots. In a drawer next to the locker were several unopened packages of brand new socks and underwear as well. She shook her head in bewilderment. _I’m not even going to question why he has clothes, boots, and women's panties which just happen to be my size_ , she thought as she changed, depositing her slightly damp clothes in a bin next to the bed, to be burned at a later time. 

Grabbing her hip holster and sunglasses, she deposited her badge into a pocket and found her way to the small bathroom. After washing the caked blood and dirt off of her face, she glanced in the mirror at the laceration near her hairline, and following a thorough inspection decided it probably wouldn’t need stitches - not that she’d be able to get to a doctor now, anyway. Continuing to stare thoughtfully into her reflection, she took the elastic out of the braid, running her fingers through to free the thick, wavy locks as they cascaded freely down her back to her waist.

Several minutes later, after walking out of the room in a fresh set of clothes and feeling much lighter, Kenna found her savior leaning over a desk. He was staring at half a dozen television screens that appeared to be monitoring various locations around the area, but turned around as he heard her approach. “Good, you found something that fits…” He trailed off as he stared at her, noticing the marked change.

“My hair is probably my most noticed feature. Well, was, is the more appropriate word now, I suppose,” she sighed, running a hand through her now-shoulder-length mane. “I heard Joseph’s radio broadcast, I know they’re looking for me… I figured I might as well make it harder for anyone to recognize me.” She smiled sheepishly, handing his knife back to him. He nodded in approval, sticking his hand out after returning his blade to his belt.

“Smart girl, you might just survive this yet. I didn’t properly introduce myself back there. Most folks call me Dutch.” She shook his hand, the callouses grating against her palm.

“I’m Kenna, Kenna Bishop. But most folks around here call me Rook.”

Dutch released her hand and crossed his arms. “Rook, huh. Odd nickname.”

She shrugged. “It started off as a joke - I went out to a bar with my future coworkers the evening before my first day on the beat, they had kind of a ‘welcome to the force’ party. Pratt had a bit too much to drink that night, and instead of calling me ‘rookie’ he slurred out ‘rook’ and laughed his ass off that I was named after the wrong chess piece. It stuck, and now that’s pretty much the only thing people call me - honestly, it seems like no one even remembers my name. They even had it embroidered on my name tape on my uniform the next day - must have been quite the rush job charge.”

“Well, I guess it’s better than Pawn…” Dutch offered. She laughed, agreeing as he gave her a small smile. She felt honored, having a feeling that he wasn't in the habit of freely sharing smiles. “Listen, I’ve been trying to piece together what’s happening up top, and it ain’t good. Little I can gather is that your partners are alive, for now. Seems they’ve been split up, each one handed off to a different member of Joseph’s family.” She opened her mouth to interject, but he held a finger up, bidding her to allow him to continue. “You want ‘em back, I get it. I got friends that’ve been taken, too. Problem is, there ain’t no help coming. Nobody knows what’s going on here, and they won’t know until it’s too late. There’s gotta be people willing to fight back back against this cult, we just need to show ‘em how. We need to build us a resistance.”

She leaned in, intrigued by the idea. “A resistance, eh? And just how do we do that?”

\- - -

Kenna dragged herself back to Dutch’s bunker, letting out a small moan as she was finally able to relax on the couch in what served as Dutch’s living room. _You just had to go and open your big mouth_ , she thought to herself, wincing as she massaged her tired calves, aching from the hours of physical activity she had partook in. It had been a long day cross-crossing Dutch’s island saving hostages, draining out a flooded prepper stash, clearing out the Forest Research Station that the Peggies had been using as a bliss depot, and braving her fear of heights to flip the switch that would allow Dutch to receive signals originating from outside of his island.

As she had climbed up her third ladder, she was seriously regretting agreeing to Dutch’s request. _I should’ve just said no, should’ve told him to climb his own damn radio tower. Hell, I should have gotten that Andrew Lee to do it as payment for saving his ass from those Peggies_ , she had thought ruefully, sincerely regretting sending Andrew on his way after cutting him loose. Though he would likely have been on her side since the Peggies were holding him hostage, she was still a bit weary of trusting anyone at the moment after Nancy’s painful betrayal the day prior. She trusted Dutch because he had spared her life even when he knew it could ultimately lead to the cult going after him; she didn’t know Andrew, and had no faith that he’d make the same sacrifice Dutch was making. Andrew had been immensely grateful, promising that he and his wife would lend whatever help they could to the resistance, which she appeared to accept gratefully with a feigned smile. She had continued climbing, focusing on one rung at a time as she reflected on Dutch rescuing her when she had washed up on the riverbank after Burke’s second time abandoning her to die. He saved her life, the least she could do is climb up three stories.

Dutch sat next to her, offering her a beer and some stew, which she gratefully accepted. “Long day?” He joked. She stared down at the bowl in front of her, pushing the beef and carrots around with a fork. “I know that Eden’s Gate has done terrible things, and will continue to do terrible things…” she began hesitantly. “But can’t any of them be saved? Is it possible to win this fight without having to kill so many people?” Dutch rubbed his beard, looking at her sadly.

“You seem like a good kid, but you need to wisen up real fast here.” He said kindly, not intending to scold, but to educate. “The only thing these people know is what Joseph Seed tells ‘em. They’ll follow him and do what he says long as they’re breathin’. If he told them to jump off a cliff…”

“I’ve heard that comparison, and it’s true," she interrupted, leaning back against the couch. "When we were in the helicopter trying to take Joseph back to Missoula, one threw himself head first into the helicopter blades...” Kenna shuddered at the memory. Dutch nodded.

“As long as they’re able, they’ll follow Joseph. Joseph’s command was to take all the people and supplies they’ll need to survive their ‘Collapse,’ and to capture you so you can be brought into the fold. Trust me kid, whatever the Seeds have in store for you is a fate worse than death. You may not want to kill, but if you want to make it out of here and save your friends, killin’s exactly what you need to do.”

They both ate in peace as Kenna contemplated Dutch’s pearls of wisdom. She had killed yesterday and today, but each time had been in order to save her life when it had been threatened. What Dutch was proposing would essentially turn her into an assassin. She had joined the force in order to save lives to repay her debts to the universe; she didn’t enjoy the idea of taking lives if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. _Technically by taking the lives of the cult members, I’ll be saving the lives of the civilians here… Is that a distinction I can live with…?_   She wasn’t sure.

When the bowls and beer bottles were empty, and their appetites sated, Dutch finally broke the silence. “You still have your map?” Kenna nodded, leaning to the side so she could access the map, trying to smooth out the wrinkles from it being unceremoniously shoved into her back pocket. Dutch took it and laid it flat on the coffee table, tapping a finger to each point of interest as he explained the layout.

“I don’t know how much you know about this County, bein’ new and all, so bare with me while I give you the beginner’s rundown - think of it as a tutorial.” She leaned forward to get a better view as Dutch pointed to each point of interest. “Hope County’s divided into three regions. To the north, you got the Whitetail Mountains. It’s run by Jacob Seed, oldest brother of that fuckin’ family. Jacob’s the one trainin’ the cult, and he’s damn good at what he does. Southeast of there you got the Henbane River. That’s Faith’s territory - the little sister. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about people losin’ their minds in a place called The Bliss. Rumor has it she got your Sheriff Whitehorse, but he managed to escape and is currently raisin’ hell out at the jail.” Kenna made a mental note to go pay her boss a visit first; surely he'd know the best plan of action. “Lastly, West we have the Holland Valley. John Seed’s just rolled in there and is takin’ everything in the name of the cult - food, supplies, and worst of all, people.”

Kenna stared at the Western part of the map, deep down knowing the answer before she asked, but needing to hear it anyway. “John Seed… He wouldn’t happen to have gone by Duncan in the past, would he?” Dutch looked quizzically at her. “I don’t know nothin’ about John before he came to Hope County, but I’ll tell you what I do know.” Reaching over to a side table, he grabbed an accordian file, thumbing through it and pulling out a folder. As he handed it to her, he continued. “John Seed is the youngest of the Seed brothers, and may be the most sadistic. He’s in charge of recruitment for the cult. Now I don’t know ‘bout his past other’n what he’s boasted about, but the way he tells it, he was one of the most sought after attorneys in Georgia. I’d believe it, he’s used those skills to…” Kenna stopped listening at that point, staring at the photo paperclipped to the manila folder of the man she knew years ago as John Duncan. Drifting her gaze downward, she felt her blood turn to ice as the file was labeled “JOHN SEED.”

So he wasn’t simply the cult’s lawyer, as she had initially suspected when she saw him standing there. John Duncan, John Seed - whatever he was calling himself these days - was smack dab in the middle of this mess, being Joseph Seed’s brother, and one of the three Heralds in charge of running the cult.  Once again, a figure from her past had managed to catch up to her.  But this time, escaping wouldn't be so simple.  _As if this weren’t already complicated enough…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's where I start mixing things up - you'll notice a major part of the tutorial quest was left out of this part of the story, there's a reason for that, I promise! I started out using most of the text from the game to set the stage for the story - and because it's fun to imagine what the game could have been like had we been able to make choices - but it'll start diverging more and more from here on out.
> 
> And I know I said I'd post more often, but the holidays and being sick for over a week have made that a little difficult, so I apologize!


	7. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscing on the past, and setting a trap...

John paced maniacally outside the bunker door, staring at nothing, lost in his own conflicting thoughts as he prepared himself to face his captive.

These last few days had been a whirlwind of unexpected events, which were kicked off by Joseph’s frenzied phone call that his presence was required at a late-night sermon along with his most loyal Chosen. Although he was in the middle of a very satisfying confession session, he had dropped everything and immediately drove from his bunker in Holland Valley to his brother's church. Jacob and Faith had been summoned as well, and all three had listened to Joseph preach with a fevered intensity not previously seen in his lessons. Joseph had always been passionate about his messages, but this one had been over the top. John had been suspicious that another message from the Voice had been the cause of Joseph’s mania, but was completely unprepared for the turn of events that would follow.

He thought back to the encounter at the church, remembering how the attorney part of him had frantically been cataloging every action by Whitehorse and the U.S. Marshal, looking for missteps, already preparing a Motion to Dismiss in his mind. Lack of probable cause? Use of unnecessary force? Surely there would be something he could use. And if not, well, he could always make something up. Every person present would be willing to sign a declaration under oath that these two had done something so egregious as to warrant all charges being dismissed... His train of thought had been derailed when _she_ had walked in. Her demeanor projected confidence, but he recognized a sliver of doubt in her mostly-cobalt eyes as narrow as the yellow ring around her pupils as she strode towards his brother. His hardened heart skipped a beat as he recalled the junior deputy finally making eye contact with him at the end, after he had been staring at her for what felt like an eternity. It had taken her a few moments, but he bit back a grin, reveling in the look of incredulity that had crossed her face as she finally noticed his presence.

The last time he had seen her, he was still John Duncan, annual recipient of the The National Trial Lawyers’ Top 40 Under 40 award, yearly named on the Super Lawyers list - and a huge thorn in her side. She had worked for McAllister, Ricketts & Kinslow, Inc., another major law firm in Atlanta which was frequently on the other side of his own firm’s cases. Her firm had experienced an uptick in wins against his firm’s clients tracing back to the time she was hired. When MRK, Inc. had managed to score a single victory against one of his own personal clients, he begrudgingly congratulated Bob McAllister on the win, who had gleefully praised his paralegal, Kenna Bishop. His rival stated he wouldn’t have been able to win without Kenna’s tireless efforts, and he looked forward to giving John a run for his money more often. From then on, when he had clients where MRK, Inc. was opposing counsel, he personally handled all communications instead of having his assistant reach out to Kenna’s firm. And of course, since her employers were far too busy and important to handle the mundane day-to-day communication regarding clients, it fell on Kenna to deal with his letters and calls personally… His ice blue eyes twinkled as the memories flashed through his brain, remembering the thrill of the chase. She had been forced to hide her obvious contempt for him due to the professional nature of her job, which made it all the more intoxicating. After a long hiatus due to her unexpected disappearance five years ago, the chase was back on...

Placing a palm on the wall, he steadied himself as he focused on the present. It now fell to him to change her alliance from the Sheriff's Department to Eden's Gate. Every lost soul that he was able to convert to his brother’s cause was a win for him, as each earned him Joseph’s love and praise. He had never truly felt that he belonged as one of the leaders of Eden’s Gate; his past was too tainted, his heart too corrupt, his soul too full of sin to deserve such a covetous position. But if he was able to bring the deputy - the metaphorical lost lamb - to Joseph’s flock, perhaps he could be redeemed. Their past was an obstacle, to be sure, but there hadn’t always been such blatant hostility between the two. He would do whatever it took to redeem her, and pass this final test to determine if he truly was worthy of walking through the Gates of Eden with the rest of his family.

Taking a final deep breath, willing the emotions painted on his face to melt away, John opened the door to the room where Deputy Bishop was being held captive. Whistling Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again” - a song he thought most appropriate under the circumstances - he sauntered towards the shadowy figure bound to the chair in the corner of the room. But as he grew closer, something gnawed away at him, his intuition screaming at him that something wasn’t quite right.

_No_ , he thought frantically, as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he was able to visually confirm his suspicions.  _No, no, no, FUCK!_ The woman in front of him was a Sheriff’s Deputy, but everything else was wrong. Her hair was not the long, tawny blonde reaching to her waist, but dark brown barely reaching her armpit. Golden tan skin replaced the porcelain color he was expecting, forest green eyes rather than those unique blue and yellow eyes.

Seething as he lengthened his strides, unable (and frankly, unwilling) to control the monster inside that he usually worked so hard to keep caged, he grabbed the woman’s shoulders and shook her. “Why the fuck are you here!?” She was unable to respond, duct tape covering her mouth, but her eyes were full of hatred as she glared at him. If looks could kill, John would have dropped dead on the spot. Just as quickly as his rage had boiled over, a mask of calm swept over his face, and he gave her a disarming smile. “Oh, but where are my manners?” His smile darkened as he ripped the tape off, eliciting a cry from his hostage as a tear began making a black trail down her cheek - whether from the pain or the rage, he didn’t care. He needed answers. “Now, let’s try this again… Why are you here?”

Deputy Hudson stared at him incredulously. “Why am I here?” She laughed bitterly, unable to stop, as she attempted to process the question. “What kind of a question is that? You had brought me here, you sadistic fuck!” John folded his arms, waiting for her outburst to end. When she didn’t stop other than to catch a breath before breaking into another hysterical fit of giggling, he continued on, raising his voice so he could be heard over her laughter.

“I asked why are _you_ here, emphasis on the you. I know why you’re _here_.” He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his rapidly fading composure before he lost control. A sudden wave of realization came as he recalled instructing his favored Chosen to have “the female deputy” brought to him. Deputy Hudson must have been present as well, though he hadn’t seen her since he had ducked out the back door once Joseph was taken into custody. If he hadn't seen Deputy Hudson, it was very likely that the Chosen hadn't seen Deputy Bishop, and believed they were following his orders when they captured the wrong one. 

_Forgive me, Joseph, I’ve failed you…_ He bit back a wave of bile as panic began to replace his rage. His self-worth was completely dependent on his brother's opinion of him; he could not afford to let him down. Backing slightly further away from his captive, he searched through the annals of his mind on ideas how to fix his failure. As an idea crossed his mind, his eyes lit up.

“This appears to be a big misunderstanding. It seems I was not explicit enough in my instructions, but I do believe we can rectify this situation… Let’s make a deal, shall we?” Hudson turned her head away from him, eliciting a frown from John. _It's too bad, I would have loved to have taught you a lesson in respect..._ “I’ll let you go, if you tell me where Ms. Bishop is.” Her head snapped back to his direction, her brows furrowed; John delighted in the way the flash of fear raced across her previously resentful face. _Aha, a chink in your armor_ , John inwardly celebrated upon discovering how protective the deputy seemed to be of her partner. He wondered if the feeling was reciprocated as well - he could use this to his advantage.

The Baptist leaned in menacingly when she didn’t answer immediately, Hudson's lower lip trembling as he inched closer. “Patience is not one of my strong suits, Deputy,” he warned, enunciating each syllable in her title. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

“I don’t know where she is,” she finally spat out after appearing to internally struggle with whether to answer him. “Last time I saw her, I was being manhandled and dragged away, watching as your shitbag brother left her to die in a burning helicopter. If you want to talk to her, you’ll have to speak to _The Father_ ,” she sneered as she sarcastically said the title, “and see if his God can pass a message along.”

John smiled at her menacingly, yet another plan quickly forming in his mind. He was at his element when he was under stress, and the thought of failing Joseph led his brilliant mind to go into overdrive. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know a Ouija board won’t be necessary, your lovely partner is alive and well. Well, perhaps not well, but certainly alive.” Hudson looked immensely relieved, which John noted before continuing. “And I’m also delighted to tell you that you will be helping me find her.”

Hudson frowned. “You're even crazier than I thought if you think I'll help you find her.”

He leaned in close, looking at her from under his brows as he grinned. “Oh, my dear, you'll help me, whether you intend to or not. I don't need your cooperation, just your presence...”

\- - -

“Yes, I am a sinner. Yes, I wish to be unburdened. Yes…” John trailed off, walking behind the restrained Deputy Hudson, placing a hand gently around the base of her throat. “…I must be redeemed.” He held his hand steady for several moments, applying slight pressure just before releasing his grip. She hadn't wanted to cooperate and had tried fighting to get away from the camera, but after a few backhands and a pistol butt to the back of the head by an overenthusiastic member of the church, she had lost the drive to fight. The only movement from her now was the full-body tremble as she stood numbly, accepting of her fate.

John turned and walked towards the camera, which panned away from Deputy Hudson and focused up-close on his face. “If you’re watching this, know that you have been selected. You will be cleansed. You will confess your sins, and you will be offered atonement.” His signature one-sided smirk reached his face as he held a hand up, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do anything… We’ll come for you. Welcome to Eden’s Gate.” 

He had been intending to shoot this commercial for a while now, but something always came up around the time he planned on shooting it. A trying confession, a lengthy baptism, an unforeseen problem in dealing with his flock... All had led up to this. _Something_ had been getting in the way of his production for weeks now - but the wait was worth it. All of the setbacks led up to this, the perfect time to send this out on the airwaves. Everything in the production of this message had been for Kenna. Sure, it had all been framed in a way that could have been directed towards _anyone_ \- after all, he hadn't used her name at all - but it was all intended for her. He was banking on her caring for her partner as much as her partner obviously cared about her.  And that would be her downfall.

John clapped his hand on the cameraman’s shoulder, thanking him for his service to their cause as he made his way back over to Deputy Hudson. “You were a natural!” He chuckled, reveling in the way her unrestrained hatred - her _wrath_ \- filled her face. “Honestly, you should think about acting.” The taunt only served to bring Hudson's muted rage back to life, causing her to launch herself at him. The two cultists on either side of her grabbed her arms and hauled her back as John reached boldly towards her. Ripping her radio off of her belt, he dangled it in front of her.

“Am I correct in assuming that this Sheriff’s Department issued radio will allow me to contact Ms. Bishop directly, hmm?” He questioned, focusing his gaze on the device to study it more closely. “Currently set to frequency 12 - I believe I’ll try that first, when the time is right…" Hudson's expression changed, injecting dread into the mix. John turned from his captive and walked away, peering back over his shoulder to address her one last time. "And don’t worry, I’ll make sure and tell her you said hello.” As he strolled confidently away, whistling Vera Lynn once more, Hudson screamed in frustration from behind the duct tape, fighting until she was knocked unconscious by her captors.

_You'll soon be mine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was so short! Not that I've been the quickest updater, but it's probably going to be a couple/few weeks until the next chapter - the holidays are coming up, and I've got a bunch of other events coming up, so life is going to get crazy for a little bit. Hopefully after everything calms down I'll be able to focus more :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me and left kudos, I want to hug every single one of you reading this, I'm still blown away that people are actually reading my trash fic! You're all amazing <3
> 
> I threw a shout-out in here to an amazing author on this site who unknowingly inspired me to write this fic, so you get a cookie if you notice it :)


	8. Disco Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a slight detour, and playing with fire...

Kenna had always hated track. It wasn’t the running or the exertion involved, but the sheer insipidity of it all. Who actually enjoyed spending their time by doing _nothing_ other than walking or running for extended periods of time? It was an odd time to think about such a frivolous subject, considering the plight she was in, but her mind had begun wandering after walking in the Montana wilderness for two hours. Boredom overtook her, and she gave herself permission to daydream. Occasionally she was forced to snap back to reality by the tell-tale rumble of an engine coming down the road, having to duck down behind tall grass or a bush in order to evade detection from the cult trucks driving by on patrol. _I've been lucky so far to have not yet been spotted,_ she thought; any sight of her would have surely sparked a conflict, which was the last thing she wanted right now.

Her thoughts returned to the events from earlier that day. When the sun had had finally burned up the dense fog in the afternoon, Dutch had given her the okay to head off of his island, promising to keep in touch over the radio. Before she left, he had pointed her in the direction of the Henbane River, marking the Hope County Jail on her map. Walking Southeast towards the bridge to get off of Dutch’s island, she had begun the long trek to get to Sheriff Whitehorse. She was holding out hope that they could come up with a plan of action to save Pratt and Hudson, and get them all out of this godforsaken county. _He’ll probably want to save that dickweasel Burke too,_ she grumbled to herself. Her mind then drifted to all of the ways she could show Burke her displeasure at being left for dead _twice_ now, telling herself the exercise was for purely hypothetical reasons.

She was caught by surprise as a cult truck came around a curve in the road just as she began crossing, her mind having been too lost in thought to have looked to ensure no one was coming. "Shit," Kenna hissed, cursing herself for not being more careful. She jumped into a field full of tall, unfamiliar flowers, crouching down and hoping she hadn’t been seen. As the vehicle continued down the road, two cultists sang along off-key to a song about the world ending tonight, both none the wiser that their desperately desired deputy was mere feet away from them.

Exhaling loudly after the truck had rounded the corner out of sight, she stood up and dusted the strange green dust from the flowers off of herself. As soon as she stood back up, she nearly lost her balance, her vision swirling, doubling, tripling. She thought back to Dutch’s warning about the Bliss, and realized she had likely stumbled into a Bliss field. Backing away rapidly from the plants, she had to stop and steady herself once more. White sparkles began to form, and tried to wipe them out of her eyes. When her vision cleared somewhat after the unsuccessful attempt, the sparkles were still there along with something new: a hallucination of two vaguely humanoid creatures shambling towards her from further back in the field. Their heads were shaved with crude surgical masks over their mouths, and their skin seemed to glow with a sickly green hue. The vision distortion soon wore off, but the hallucinations did not go away; instead, she was startled as they began drifting towards her.

“What the…” She muttered to herself, at a loss on how to react to the situation. What the hell were these things? Once they wandered close enough for their milky eyes to focus on her more clearly, they launched themselves forward, screaming ferally as they drew closer. Her mind scrambled for a way to prevent the inevitable conflict, but her stomach soon sank as she realized these didn’t seem to be people that could be reasoned with. These didn’t even seem to be _people_.

Quickly, she raised her rifle from its resting position in the single-point sling Dutch had given her when she departed earlier that day. Firing off several rounds, she landed one head-shot on the closer of the two, but the second shook off multiple body shots as if the slugs hadn’t just punched holes through several major organs. Panic began overtaking her as the thing closed the distance between them, body full of holes with seemingly no negative effects. As her eyes strayed down to the still corpse of the first creature, she lined up another shot, hoping against hope that this would work; she was out of time, as the creature was practically upon her. She let out a sigh of relief as it finally fell as her final bullet pierced cleanly between its glazed eyes. She hunched over, breathing hard and taking a few minutes to reload her weapon and collect herself, trying to recover from the bad trip and the near death-by-zombie.

"And this is why I'm not a fan of mind-altering drugs," she panted as she eyed the field, vowing to stay away from those flowers in the future.

Another dull hour of walking passed; this time, she ensured that she kept a more wary eye out for cultists - _and_ now crazy zombies as well. Her path Southeast thankfully had the sun setting to her back, but it wouldn’t be much longer until darkness completely blanketed the sky. She looked at her map to ascertain how much further away the jail was from her current location. Unable to figure it out, she crumpled the map back up and shoved it back in her pocket. She couldn't risk continuing on much further; it would be dangerous to get fatigued and lose focus again. She might not be so lucky as to avoid a fight if she encountered any cultists again. Kenna scanned the horizon, eyes settling on some seemingly abandoned buildings in the distance. _Might be a good place to spend the night, if no one’s around_ , she thought, making the decision to get closer and scope it out.

She soon second-guessed that assessment as she stood in front of the Moonflower Trailer Park, a circle of rusty mobile homes and rickety trailers surrounded by haphazardly constructed plywood and metal fences. A hollowed out school bus was sunken into the concrete, permanently parked next to a small playground that didn’t look like it had ever been fit for children. What once appeared to be a splash park area was devoid of water; instead of water, the kiddie pool was filled with ashes and the seared remains of what appeared to be human corpses.

Her appraisal was interrupted as a column of flames shot closely over her head, coming from a man she had been too distracted to notice standing on top of the Moonshine Diner trailer. “Get the fuck out of here, Johnny law! I know my rights, I ain’t doing nothing wrong,” he shouted, voice gravelly likely from years of inhaling smoke from various sources. The man adjusted a shoulder strap helping to hold two large red tanks of ethanol to his back, which were connected to a flamethrower decorated with duct tape. Kenna subconsciously took a step back as she eyed the duct tape, hoping it was actually for decoration.

“How did you…?” She began, then shook her head. “Never mind, doesn’t matter at this point.” She sighed irritably as she looked up at the man. “Look, I'm not here to arrest you. I’ve been on the run for two fuckin’ days from a doomsday cult after I inadvertently kick-started a holy war. I had the misfortune to run into a man I never thought I’d see again, I’ve been left for dead twice - by the same asshole, no less - my co-workers were kidnapped by that damn cult, _and_ I’m pretty sure I’m out of a job. All I wanted was a safe place to sleep,” she snapped, her frustration from the events of the last few days finally bubbling over.

“Oh, so... You’re not here to arrest me?” He rubbed a the red and orange flame decorating his forearm. “Cool, uhh, sorry to hear about your day and all that shit…" They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like an eternity until the man's eyes lit up. "I got an idea! Come on up here, man, I got a proposition for you. Not like, a sexual one or anything like that,” he quickly assured her, “I just figure, maybe we can help each other out. I was about to put on some tunes and have a BBQ, and could use some help.” She considered her options momentarily, then shrugged, hoisting herself up to the top of the diner.

The man bowed as he introduced himself. “I am Charlemagne Victor Boshaw, but if you require more brevity in your day-to-day life, just call me Sharky.”

“Sharky it is. I’m Kenna, that’s pretty much as short as it gets. I mean, I guess you could call me Ken if _you_ require more brevity. Or Rook, since that’s what everyone else calls me. Dealer’s choice.” Sharky grinned, and Kenna couldn’t help but return his smile. She looked uneasily at his flamethrower, the pile of ashes, and quickly around the trailer park. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” She held her hands up as Sharky’s expression turned suspicious. “Not from a law enforcement point of view. Like I said, I’m pretty sure I’m out of a job. I’m just curious.”

Sharky swept an arm out towards the trailer park. “Welcome to the disco inferno. It’s my special place where I can just be me, without the prying eyes of my P.O. or witnesses or law enforcement types such as yourself - no offense,” he added sheepishly. “Here is where I am free to unleash my fire and mayhem in a pants-free, consequence-free environment.” Kenna raised an eyebrow as her eyes strayed south to the denim covering his legs. Sharky waved a hand at her. “Hey, eyes up here! I have pants on now, yes, but who knows what the next half-hour, forty-five minutes hold.”

“So about this BBQ you mentioned…” Kenna looked around, glancing again at the charred corpses in the kiddie pool. “I don’t suppose it’s actually… You know, a BBQ with edible food?” She hadn't eaten anything since she had left Dutch's island several hours ago, and her stomach was beginning to protest.

“Nah, it’s a BBQ of those brain dead cult angels that run around here,” he answered, much to her disappointment.

“Angels?” Kenna asked, unfamiliar with the term in the way Sharky likely intended it to be used. She assumed they weren't _literal_ angels, but then again, it had been a strange few days.

Sharky nodded. “They’re everywhere around here. They used to be people, but then Faith turned ‘em into what she calls 'angels,' but I'm tellin' you there ain't nothin' angelic about 'em. Anyone who says no to Faith gets pumped full’a so much bliss, they basically turn into a zombie slave.” Sharky’s expression darkened. “There’s not too many folks around here who haven’t had someone they know turned into an angel.”

“I ran into two people earlier that sound like that,” Kenna thought back to her 'zombie' encounter earlier that afternoon. “Do you…” She hesitated. “Do you think underneath the monster, there’s still a person in there? Can they think, or... Feel pain?”

Sharky shook his head. “Once they’re an angel, the person you knew is gone. They don’t think, and I don't think they feel anything, judgin' by the way they just shake off any bullets below the neck. All they know how to do is listen to what Faith tells ‘em to do. They will, and have, go after their own family members if that’s what Faith wants.” He looked uncomfortable speaking about it. Kenna got the feeling he had some personal experience to back up what he was saying, but didn’t want to pry two minutes after meeting the man. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Regardless, she was relieved that she hadn't killed two people that could have been saved and returned back to normal.

“Anyway,” Sharky cleared his throat, clearly anxious to change the subject. “Enough of the sad shit, onto the fun stuff. I got a sweet ass sound system rigged for 110 decibels of the hottest music ever created. Every time I crank it up, man, those dipshit cult angels, they just come runnin’, and I can’t tell if they love it or hate it, but I’m tellin’ you it sure is fun to melt their faces off. You wanna help? We don’t even have to wear pants or nothin’.”

Normally, Kenna would likely have had a moral opposition to being asked to ‘melt faces off,’ but after what she experienced that morning, and after Sharky had just confirmed her suspicions, she knew those weren’t people. Not anymore, anyway. If she could help get rid of some of them, it would certainly make the county safer.

“Y’know, the no pants offer is tempting, but I think I’ll keep mine on for now. If I say yes, can I crash here tonight?”

“Hell yeah!" Sharky cheered, letting loose another column of flame straight up in the sky. “Let’s burn this mother down!” He stepped on the pedal directly in front of him and the music began blaring through a large speaker set up next to the diner. Kenna tapped her foot to the beat as she waited for something to happen, thinking it was an extremely appropriate choice of song for the man's obvious love of fire. _Burn, baby burn..._

It took no time at all for a group of angels to come ambling from the left side of the park. They came relatively slowly at first, running faster as they located the source of the music. Kenna had no problem standing at the edge of the trailer and taking out each one of the angels as they attempted to climb up the ladder. Learning from her previous experience, she ensured each shot was a headshot, none of them getting higher than mid-height. _Sharky was right,_ she thought, watching the agitated angels climb over an ever-growing pile of their dead brethren at the bottom of the ladder in order to try to reach her. _They_ are _totally brain dead._

As the song drew to a close, Sharky wiped the sweat off of his forehead during a short break in the angel assault. “Gonna shut ‘er down for a bit, take a breather,” he called over to Kenna. As he stepped on the lever again to turn the music out, he jumped back with a cry as a flash of sparks flew out, followed by a small fireball.

Kenna scrunched her face up the smell of singed hair filled the air, watching as Sharky frantically swatted at embers in his goatee. “Please tell me that was supposed to happen.”

“My pedal busted on me, I can’t stop the music!” He cried, turning to her once his facial hair was extinguished. “We need to kill those speakers, amiga, right now! The angels won’t stop coming until the music stops!”

Kenna checked her weapon and found her bullets nearly expended, choosing to leave the rifle behind; the excess weight would only slow her down. _Back to the track and field activities again I guess,_ , she thought, sprinting to manipulate the four power levers spread across the trailer park. Most of the angels continued trying to get to Sharky, but a few stragglers noticed her on the ground and focused their attacks on her. She immediately regretted leaving her rifle behind, forced to resort to fending off the straggling angels with a piece of a pipe she grabbed from the ground. Once the final lever was pulled, the music finally ceased and the angels stopped amassing. As Kenna stopped to catch her breath, folding her arms over her head in an attempt to clear the burn from her lungs, Sharky picked off the remaining angels that were now aimlessly wandering around the trailer park.

A light breeze brought the echo of childish laughter to Kenna's ears. She looked around curiously to find its source, seeing nothing. As she shrugged and turned back around, she jumped as she noticed a familiar woman directly in front of her, twirling in a lacy white dress. Faith Seed had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tilting her head and spreading her arms as she stepped towards the deputy. As she opened her mouth to speak, Kenna lunged forward to push Faith back away from her. Instead of making contact with the siren’s shoulders, her hands went directly through her image as Faith disappeared in a cloud of green smoke. She blinked owlishly as she stared at the dirt that Faith had just been twirling in, undisturbed as if nothing had touched it. _I must still have some of that bliss in my system,_ she thought, shaking her head as she made her way back to Sharky. He was still perched in his original spot, evidently not having seen Faith.

“I think we got them all, Sharky,” she said, choosing not to linger on the hallucination she had as she climbed back up to the top of the diner. Lowering herself down to sit on the roof, she draped her arms over her knees to enjoy the first real moment of rest she'd had all day.

“That was fun!” Sharky said, dancing excitedly. “Man, I wish all cops were cool like you.”

“I have to ask,” Kenna cut in before Sharky could continue speaking. Her status as a law enforcement officer had come up twice now; if Sharky could see through her civilian clothes, then the cultists likely could, too. “How did you know I was a cop? I’m not exactly advertising it. I don't even have my uniform anymore, and you can't see my badge.”

“I recognized you when you walked up," he explained, much to Kenna's relief. “See, I was paying a visit to the station a week or two ago… Not for like, criminal reasons or anything,” he quickly added, fidgeting nervously with his shotgun. “I passed by you at your desk. You were talking to some other hot chick in uniform. Plus, y’know, the posters helped.”

“Posters?” Kenna asked, the relief replaced by a nervous pit slowly expanding in her stomach.

Sharky nodded. “Yeah, the cult’s got wanted posters of you everywhere. Surprised you haven’t seen ‘em, got a picture of you clear as day. I mean, your hair’s different and you’re not in uniform, but anyone who sees your face will recognize you,” he said, shifting his weight. “Plus, I mean, you can try to disguise yourself all you want chica, but your eyes are a dead giveaway.”

Kenna groaned, burying her face in her arms. He was certainly right about that; millions of people in the world had blue eyes, but she had only met one other with the halo of gold she had. They were instantly identifiable; how had she not thought about that? On top of that distressing news, the cult was apparently passing out headshots of her. She had counted on the cult being given a general description of her features - it was why she had cut her hair, after all - when and where had they managed to obtain a photo of her?

“So what you're telling me is that I'm screwed, because the feature that most easily identifies me is one I can't easily disguise. I don't exactly have a way for 1-800-Contacts to ship me some brown lenses right now,” She said, her voice muffled by her forearms. It seemed like no matter what she did, it didn't make a difference. _One step forward, two steps back... More like three or four, at this point..._

"Hey." She looked up at the sound of Sharky's voice, grabbing his outstretched hand and letting him haul her back up to her feet. He removed the black aviator sunglasses that were sitting on the bill of his baseball cap, alternating his glances between the glasses and Kenna. “Y'know," he began, turning the frames over in his hand before handing them to the deputy, “I think you need these more than I do."

“Sharky, I couldn't possibly-" She began, unable to finish her objection as Sharky her off.

“No really, take 'em," he insisted, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “You helped me out with those angels - it was way more fun doin' it with you than doin' it by myself." Kenna smiled, her grin widening as Sharky blanched upon hearing the unintended innuendo. “By doin' it I mean - ah, hell, you know what I mean. Plus, if you weren't there, no one would've been able to kill the speakers for me. Who knows what would've happened? I want you to have them."

Kenna swallowed the lump in her throat and accepted them with a silent nod. With Sharky looking on, she put them on and tested out the fit. 

“I really don't know what to say, Sharky, other than... Thank you," she said quietly, immensely grateful for both the generosity of a man she had known for no more than fifteen minutes, and for the darkness of the lenses that hid the tears brimming her lower eyelids.

“What can I say, amiga?" Sharky clapped her on the shoulder. “You and me, we got chemistry. We’re like…” He paused, struggling to come up with a good metaphor. “We’re like a frickin' team!”

Despite her initial reluctance to trust anyone, and the bad news he had dumped on her, she couldn’t help but beam back at his contagious enthusiasm. Sure, he had a less-than-spotless record, but there was something about him that drew her towards him. Underneath the rough exterior was a good man; she was sure of it. He had begun to mend her fractured trust in others. Not completely, of course; it would take time for her to be able to fully trust again. But he had put her back on the right path.

“As long as you promise not to set me on fire, you can be on my team any day, Sharky,” she smiled at her new friend. “Just… Please, find me some non-flamebroiled food, and a safe place to sleep. Preferably one without hallucinations and the smell of burnt flesh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, and for the previous short chapter - so here's an much longer one to make up for it! Plus, Sharky. He makes everything better.
> 
> I'm not totally happy with bits and pieces of this chapter, but after editing it to death for 4 days, I'm not sure there's much more I can do! Hopefully you all still enjoy it :)


	9. I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moral compass begins getting skewed...
> 
> And Sharky goes to jail.

Kenna stood anxiously by the tail gate, eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching. _This is a terrible idea, she thought. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea._

“Relax,” Sharky called from inside the truck. “No one’s around, and even if there was, they wouldn’t care. Ain’t like this is the worst crime goin’ on around here lately.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘ _Gee, Judge,_ _I figured it was okay to commit grand theft auto because hey, at least it wasn’t murder_ ’ is not a viable defense.”

“I dunno, sounds better than anything my P.D. ever said for me. Anyway, it’s just a Peggie truck, and they probably stole it first. Really, you’re performin’ a community service. Besides,” he smirked as he peeked his head out from his work under the steering wheel, “Pretty sure court ain’t in session due to, ya know, the whole hostile cult takeover thing.”

She scrunched her face in a way that would have made McKayla Maroney proud. He had a point - several, actually - and although she’d never admit it, it was a smart idea. Eden’s Gate was on the lookout for people to reap; people walking on the side of the road, riding bikes, driving cars… They weren’t looking out for other Peggies. Hopefully the truck would disguise their true identities as they were driving, should they pass any on the road. Sharky had also suggested stealing some Eden’s Gate clothing to blend in further, but she had drawn her line in the sand over that. The thought made her skin crawl, and not just because of how itchy the material looked. Wearing sweaters that looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks, and had just been worn by someone who looked like they hadn’t bathed in equally as long? Hard pass.

A few seconds later the engine roared to life, and Sharky let out a cheer. Despite her misgivings, she felt a wave of relief; this could work. He slid to the passenger seat and made an exaggerated _after you_ hand gesture to the driver’s seat.

His eyes flashed mischievously, the blue a lighter, more playful shade as she settled in. “Shit, dep, you’re well on your way to doin’ enough to get you put on a wanted poster. You know, other than the cult one you’re already on.”

“Don’t make me regret staying with you, Sharky,” she rolled her eyes, corner of her mouth twitching as she tried - and failed - to suppress the grin trying to break free.

It was an empty threat; she had grown inexplicably fond of the man in the few hours they had spent together. Initially, she had been hesitant when he offered his couch to her. After all, they were two polar opposites: she a Sheriff’s Deputy sworn to uphold the law, and he a serial pyromaniac with a rap sheet a mile long. Her mind nagged at her that he was a wanted felon and it would be inappropriate for her to stay with him.

Her colleagues would have warned against it as well. She could just imagine Whitehorse’s disapproving stare, hear Hudson’s lecture, see Nancy’s lips pressed together as she shook her head, and Pratt… Well, Pratt probably would probably have just made some joke about making sure she used protection to avoid future burning sensations.

On the other hand, there was a peculiar force drawing her to the man like a magnet. It was a force that she couldn’t ignore. That she didn’t want to ignore. Despite the short amount of time she had spent with him, something deep inside reassured her that he was harmless regardless of his criminal history. Well, harmless to her, anyway; he had proven himself to be a deadly threat to Angels and cultists alike. He was no friend to Eden’s Gate; and after all, the enemy of my enemy…

Ultimately, her mind lost the battle, and she chose to listen to her gut feeling. Maybe if she had done so back at the church, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“So, uh, dep,” Sharky cleared his throat. “Just so we’re clear, that bit yesterday about you not coming to arrest me… Was that like, just yesterday, or forever?”

“For the third time, Sharky, we’re going to the jail so I can find my boss. If anyone knows how to deal with this cult clusterfuck, it’s the Sheriff. Since he’s holed up at the jail, that’s where we’re headed. I promise you’re not getting arrested today.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not convinced by her answer. She reached out, grabbing his hand.

“You know you don’t have to come with me,” she said quietly, offering him an out.

She hated to even make the offer; Sharky was the best thing that had happened to her lately. In the midst of the chaos surrounding her, she had found the eye of the storm in the unlikeliest of places. The last thing she wanted for him was to leave, but maybe it was for the best. The people she grew close to always seemed to disappear. The last thing she wanted was for Sharky to get hurt because of her.

Sharky scoffed, shaking his head. “No way. You and me? We’re like the three amigos… except, you know, just two of us. Wherever you go, I go.”

“This is no time for jokes, I’m serious. I can’t ask you to put your life on the line next to me. I’m trying to fix my fuck up here, you don’t have a horse in this race.”

“My horse is in this race whether I want it to be or not, same’s everyone in this county,” he said quietly, the icy edge in his voice seemed to drop the temperature several degrees. “This is my home, dep. I know you ain’t been here long, but this place used to be pretty chill until the cult turned it into crazytown. I’ll be damned if I let some some manbunned hippie bitch take over my home without a fight.”

Once again, he had a point, one that she hadn’t considered. She wasn’t in this alone, and it wasn’t just her fight.

“Okay, you win.” She conceded, not wanting to try too hard to convince him not to stay. If she was being honest with herself, she was relieved that he wanted to stay with her, regardless of his motives.

As another cult truck approached them on the road, Kenna’s pulse quickened. She held her breath, hoping the disguise would work but quickly running through plans for what would happened if it failed, just in case. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst - her grandfather had taught her that.

Thankfully, the real cultists didn’t spare them a backwards glance, but Kenna continued watching them in the rear view mirror. Even after the tailgate disappeared from sight, she alternated her gaze between the road ahead and the view in back of them.

“If it would make you feel better, you could wait outside the gates,” she offered as the idea popped into her head after several minutes, staring intently at the rear view mirror.

“I uh, don’t think that’s going to be an option right now.”

She frowned at the concern in his voice, tearing her gaze from the mirror and returning it to the road ahead. The sight ahead made her stomach churn.

“ _Shit_.”

Kenna slammed her foot down on the brake pedal, the sudden stop causing the sunglasses to fly off of her face. The truck fishtailed on the loose dirt as it came to rest next to an abandoned guard shack.

Two white trucks with the Eden’s Gate cross on the doors were parked in front of the gate to the jail, and a group of eight cultists were in the middle of exchanging gunfire with a small group up on the jail walls. Kenna’s heart pounded; whether more from excitement from being so close to Whitehorse and her colleagues at the jail, or from terror that she was only feet away from being discovered by the cultists, she couldn’t say.

The man closest to the newcomers squinted in their direction, staring into the cab of the truck.

“Told ya we should have gotten them sweaters.”

“Not helpful,” Kenna scrambled to reach the sunglasses which were now wedged between the dashboard and the windshield. Her fingertips brushed the arm, cursing as the locked seatbelt prevented her from grasping it. As she reached back to unbuckle the herself, she flinched as a figure appeared just outside her window; the cultist who had been staring them down.

“Double shit,” she muttered as she stared into the wide eyes of the bearded man, recognition washing over his dirt streaked face as he reached to free his holstered pistol.

“It’s the deputy!” He hollered, alerting the others as he leveled his gun into the cab. Time seemed to slow as she stared down the barrel. All the other sounds around her faded into the background, the only noise she was conscious of was her own beating heart.

Sharky’s hand darted out impossibly fast, wrapping around her forearm and yanking her over to his side.

“Get down!” He cried, and the world came crashing back to full speed. Kenna instinctively flattened her body as much as was possible in the cramped cab. There was barely enough time to cover her ears as her passenger fired his shotgun. Her window shattered, raining tiny pieces of safety glass everywhere as the pellets went through, lodging themselves into the chest of the cultist who had just seconds ago aimed his pistol between her eyes.

“Time to go!”

Sharky scrambled out of the vehicle and took cover behind the concrete barrier in front of them. Kenna quickly followed suit, hurdling over the barrier and avoiding the projectiles flying past her. Most of them, anyway; before she could land, a scalding hot pain ripped into her left arm. She let out a cry as she faltered, landing hard on her side. She looked down at her arm to see a large rip in the borrowed shirt that was quickly turning crimson. Warm, sticky blood flowed over her fingers as applied pressure to the wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Use the bliss bullets, you fools! It is Sister Faith’s will for her to be brought in alive!”

Her heart rate, rapid before, seemed to double after hearing the man’s words. The terror of being kidnapped and forcibly drugged was a powerful override to any objections she had about taking lives. At this point, she couldn’t afford the luxury of taking the moral high ground if she wanted to live. The realization was a powerful wake up call. She didn’t know what Faith wanted with her, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to go without a fight. No matter what it took.

Sharky was immediately by her side, removing her hand to inspect the injury. “Shit,” he muttered as a fresh trickle of blood began flowing as soon as she removed the pressure. Without any hesitation, he pulled the hem of the probably-once-white tanktop he wore under his hoodie down, ripping a long strip of fabric from it.

“Just a graze, but it might need stitches. This’ll hold for now until we can get you inside.”

Kenna gave him a half smile as he wrapped the makeshift bandage around her bicep. “Good thing I kept you around after all,” she joked, wincing as he wound it tightly and knotted it.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, shorty.” He inspected his handiwork, nodding in approval.

“I don’t know how we’re going to blow our way out of this one,” Kenna said, flinching as the corner of the barrier crumbled. Gunshots continued to assault their cover, taking out more and more chunks of the concrete with each bullet. Soon, they weren’t going to have anything to hide behind.

“Blow our way - shit, you’re a genius! I could kiss you!” Sharky exclaimed as he reached into his pocket. “Totally forgot about these babies. Thanks for the reminder, never know when you’re gonna need to blow somethin’ up!” He said proudly, holding out his prize.

Kenna opened and closed her mouth several times, eyes wide, before realizing she had no idea what to say. A thousand things were going through her mind, but now wasn’t the time for lectures or screaming expletives. After they made it through, though, Sharky was going to be on the receiving end of both.

She took the offered grenade from him as delicately as possible, shaking her head as she turned her attention back to the commotion to wait for an opportune pause in the gunfire. Pulling the pin out, she peered around the side of the barrier to get an idea of her target, lobbing it perfectly underneath the closer of the two cult trucks. She quickly ducked back down, covering the back of her head and neck as the grenade exploded, sending bits of shrapnel flying, and sending the raiders scrambling to find new cover.

As she psyched herself up to take on the remaining cultists, she shot Sharky a warning look.

“When this is all over, we’re going to have to have a very long talk about the proper way to carry explosives.”

\- - -

Cheers rose up from the exhausted fighters as the large entry gate to the jail was raised slightly to allow the saviors inside. The fight was over; they had won.

The explosion had blown the limbs off of three of the attackers and stunned the ones still remaining; no one had seen the grenade coming. With the maximum amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins and numbing her pain, she and Sharky had no problem picking them off, or distracting them enough for the resistance members up on the outer jail walls to finish them off. They hadn’t been able to rejoice in their victory for long, however, as more waves of cultists soon came barreling down the road. After what felt like hours of fighting, culminating in a perfect throw of another of Sharky’s pocket grenades obliterating a cult fuel truck which had intended to blow a hole in the gate, the cultists gave up. The survivors rapidly retreated with their tails tucked between their legs.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” Sharky wrapped an arm around Kenna, supporting her as the adrenaline quickly began wearing off, allowing her pain to begin making itself known again. “You good?”

“Honestly, it feels like I got beaten with a baseball bat,” she admitted, unsure whether she preferred the white-hot pain to the intense ache it had been replaced with.

“The infirmary’s pretty good here. Saved my last cellie when he got shanked, I’m sure they can fix you up, too.” Kenna wordlessly leaned against him as he guided her up the path towards the jail, his aversion to going inside the building long-forgotten in the face of her injury. Despite her pain, a smile crossed her face; it was another in the growing list of signs that let her know she made the right decision sticking with him.

“I mean let’s be honest, what was he expecting with a nickname like Spanky in jail? I told him he needed a better one, but let me tell ya, the head on his shoulders was as hard as the other…”

“Holy shit, Rook?” Kenna jerked her head off of Sharky’s shoulder, facing it in the direction of the voice. A wave of relief washed over her as her gaze fell on the familiar face in the doorway to the jail. It had been less than a week since she’d last seen him, but it had felt like a lifetime.

The Sheriff stood frozen in place, the shock of seeing someone he had presumed dead preventing him from making any meaningful moments. “I can’t believe it was you out there; I heard we had some fools taking on the Peggies outside the gate, but I figured it would just be fed up civilians.” He shook his head, the shock replaced by pride and awe as she stopped in front of her boss.

“I thought they got you when we hadn’t heard anything from you since… Well, you know. I’m sure glad you’re alive. We really kicked open a hornet’s nest here, huh?” His eyes trailed downward, finally registering the blood soaking through both her sleeve and Sharky’s makeshift bandage. He quickly looked into her eyes, staring at them for several long seconds before nodding to himself, satisfied that she had passed his inspection.

“Doesn’t look like this was from a bliss bullet; that’s good. That’d be the last thing we needed right now. Just keep pressure on it. The infirmary’s runnin’ low on supplies, but we should still have enough to…” His face hardened as he recognized her companion for the first time, having been too distracted to properly notice him before.

“Rook, what are you doing with Boshaw?” He eyed Sharky suspiciously, shaking his head. “I appreciate you getting my deputy here, son, but there’s a warrant out for your arrest. The law’s the law.”

Before Sharky even had a chance for the panic to fully cross his face, Kenna stepped between the two men, ignoring the dizziness from her sudden movement.

“With all due respect, sir, I have to object.” She glanced back at Sharky, who despite the cool breeze was sweating bullets. Whitehorse looked surprised, but let her continue. “Sharky saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you, and you’d likely still be under attack. Or worse; without his help, that fuel truck would have blown a hole in that gate, and the jail would have been overrun. Besides, I think we could use all the help we can get at this point, don’t you?”

Sharky shifted nervously behind her, using her as a far-too-small human shield. Whitehorse squinted hard over Kenna’s head, appearing to be having an internal debate before finally glancing down at her determined face. His features softened, and he sighed, seeming to age ten years before her eyes.

“I suppose you’re right. We’ve lost enough people the last few days, this ain’t the time to be throwing potential allies away.” His gaze hardened again as he looked back up at Sharky.

“But you better believe I’ve got my eye on you. If any harm comes to Bishop here…”

Sharky snapped his posture straight, fumbling to salute. “Yes sir, I mean, no sir, I mean, I won’t let nothin’ happen to her, sir. Pinkie swear.”

Whitehorse narrowed his eyes, then shook his head resignedly as he turned back towards the jail. “C’mon, let’s get you two inside.”

Kenna let out a sigh of relief, letting out the breath she had been holding. She had promised Sharky that he wasn’t going to be arrested today, and even if it meant going up against her superior, she intended to keep that promise.

“I won’t tell the boss man about your crime spree if you don’t tell him about mine,” he whispered conspiratorially as he supported her weight once more, helping her up the jail steps.

“Deal.”

It was an odd feeling, not having to check in before going inside, walking around with multiple weapons on her… Walking through the doors was like walking into an alternate reality. The layout of the building was the same, but the inside of the jail looked… Well, like a war zone. Bullet holes dotted the walls, mattresses had been pulled out of cells and lined along the walls to take cover behind. Cots were shoved haphazardly into hallways, separated by privacy screens and serving as a makeshift triage area. Instead of only uniformed officers walking the halls, there were scores of civilians, also armed to the teeth.

The cult coup sure had changed things.

“Gonna be honest. Never thought I’d see you again,” Whitehorse broke the silence as they walked down the hallway towards the infirmary, seemingly lost in the negative memories swirling in his mind. “After the crash I just remember fog, then walking in a field… and then I saw her. You’ve seen her too, haven’t you Rook?”

She nodded, how could she forget the hallucination she had at the trailer park? At least, she was pretty sure was just a hallucination. Faith had seemed so real, but when she instinctively thrust her hands out to push the woman back, she had just… disappeared. The siren left behind no evidence that she had ever been standing there in the first place other than a cold, eerie green mist that gave her a chill down to her bones as it caressed her arms, beckoning her…

“Whatever she says, whatever she promises… it’s a lie,” he continued. “The Bliss… it makes you forget. It makes you feel free. You just want to stay there forever… But it isn’t real, none of it. If Virgil and Tracey hadn’t found me, I’d still be out there swimmin’ in a sea of Bliss.”

“I’m glad you got away, but Hudson and Pratt… They weren’t so lucky. I remember them being grabbed out of the helicopter after we crashed, but I didn’t see what happened to them after that.” She thought back to what she had heard when still handcuffed inside Dutch’s bunker. “I heard Joseph over the radio say they’d been given over to his family, whatever that means…”

Whitehorse’s gaze took on an odd quality that Kenna couldn’t quite place, a mixture of pity, sadness, anger, and regret? He shook his head, a mask of calm replacing the indecipherable face.

“I take it you haven’t seen it yet, huh?”

Kenna frowned, her stomach began churning, unsettled by his expression and ominous response. “Seen what?”

The Sheriff sighed, wrestling with himself again. He stopped walking in front of a door, holding it open and motioning her inside. Kenna hesitated, debating whether or not to force him to answer her question first. Ultimately, after Sharky nudged her forward, she walked into the infirmary and lowered herself onto the first exam table.

Whitehorse stood in the doorway, nodding to the nurse on duty who quickly began fussing over her injuries.

“Get yourself patched up, Rook. Once Jen here has cleared you, come find me. There’s… somethin' you need to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to anyone who has been following along for such a horrendously long wait, but I'm back! It's been a crazy last few months for me, lots of illness, family stuff and events, coupled with the most horrendous writer's block I've ever had. This chapter was initially completely different, but I had to scrap it and rewrite it before feeling any semblance of okay with it. So hopefully it was almost worth the wait!
> 
> On another note, if anyone has Tumblr and cares to follow me, I'd love more people to talk FC5 with! Look me up at ontherightsideofrockbottom :)


	10. Born to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in the Valley...

John set the stack of documents back down on his desk, running his hands over his hair. He had tried to read the same sentence in the Deed of Trust he was supposed to be reviewing at least three times, but couldn’t recall a single word. Everything on the pages had blurred, morphing into an unfortunate mixture of hieroglyphics and indecipherable nonsense. He sighed; it seemed no further work would get done today.

Rubbing his temples, he willed the dull, throbbing ache deep within to disappear, but it refused to budge. If only all of his duties as a Herald were as easy as issuing commands to his flock. His followers had proven themselves loyal time and time again. They obeyed his directions without a second thought, even at the expense of their own safety - or lives. So long as he ordered it, it would be done; his will was never questioned.

There was, of course, the smattering of stubborn Hope County citizens who had not willingly converted to their cause, but they had been minor annoyances, most of them easily taken care of. Until _she_ showed up. John’s nostrils flared as his thoughts turned to the woman who had been doing nothing but making his life, and the lives of his siblings, a living hell for weeks.

Faith had been so close to occupying the Hope County Jail. Her twisted Angels and Chosen had the perfect opportunity to breach the gates and get inside the walls; the jail would be an invaluable asset to their cause. They had very nearly succeeded, but at the last moment she had shown up with that dimwitted Boshaw boy. The two of them had forced the devoted to retreat, keeping the jail in the hands of the resistance and delivering Eden’s Gate a massive defeat. Before that report came in over the radio he had thought her dead, despite Joseph’s reassurances that she was alive; he was sure she still had another part to play in the coming Collapse. His eyes drifted to the framed photograph on his desk; he should have believed Joseph. The Father had never steered him wrong.

All of the reports following the initial failure at the jail were more of the same. Drubman Marina. Baron Lumber Mill. The water treatment plant. Countless shrines, beacons, roadblocks and convoys. Their captives had been freed, their faithful murdered or taken captive themselves. She had wrought destruction everywhere she went, causing more damage to their operation in three weeks than had ever been done in all the years they had been in Hope County.

It had been impossible to guess her next move, other than a safe assumption that it would be in the Whitetails or Henbane. She had largely ignored his valley. He frowned; his devoted believed they were lucky that his region had been spared, but he was disappointed. He had been counting on her losing control, itching to capture her and bring her face to face with her sins. Even his attempts to reach her through the radio had been met with silence. It was possible she wasn’t receiving his transmissions; they did have signal jammers placed throughout the Whitetails where she had been frequenting. But she had been in the Henbane as well, where the signal was just fine. If she had received his taunting messages, she had developed remarkable self-control.

He rose from his chair and strode over to the wall where his professional award certificates were hung, stroking his beard as he reminisced on the woman he once knew. She had been quick to anger, and he knew that she wanted nothing more than to snap back at his barbed comments, but her displeasure was forcibly restrained under the mask of professionalism she was forced to wear. Now she didn't have any leash tethering her to her employment; her paralegal job left long ago, and her current job no longer an issue. After she had broken the first seal, all bets were off.

He had been sure that she would come rushing to his doorstep after seeing the video he had designed to draw out her wrath. She had snapped, alright, but her rage had been directed towards the whole of Eden’s Gate, not directly at him like he had anticipated. To make matters worse, the citizens of Hope County were no longer on the verge of giving up and allowing themselves to be saved. Those lost souls had found renewed vigor, flocking to her with a fanaticism matched only by Eden’s Gate’s devotion to Joseph.

He had sorely misjudged her. The last time he had misjudged something this badly, she had been involved as well, back in Atlanta. He didn’t typically do family law cases, but he had been sure this one would a slam dunk. It would be an easy win, which meant money that he’d sooner be able to spend on alcohol and cocaine, and someone to warm his bed. But she had ruined that. Now it was happening all over again. She didn’t care about the damage she was causing, didn’t care that she was damning the souls of hundreds of people that he could have saved, that he _should_ have saved.

She was kryptonite, sapping away years of hard work, making him look like a fool in front of his followers - and worse, in front of Joseph. He could just picture Joseph’s face in his mind - blank, but his eyes… Disappointment would fill his eyes, the twins to John’s own. He couldn’t let Joseph down; he wouldn’t let her be the cause of Joseph losing faith in him.

Rage simmered in his veins, rising as it spread throughout his body, coloring his vision red like the unfortunate souls undergoing his brother Jacob’s trials. His rage sought its recourse in vengeance, but was forced to settle for finding it in the contents covering his desk. The damned unreadable legal documents flew through the air, fluttering to the ground haphazardly. He ground his teeth, staring daggers at the papers, trying to will them to right themselves. _Add that to the list everything defying me lately…_

“John, you there?” A voice crackled, muffled beneath the scattered papers littering the floor.

“What _now_ ,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. Which of his siblings had been hit this time, he wondered, what else had they lost? The Conservatory? The Grand View Hotel? Joseph’s compound itself?! It wouldn’t even surprise him if she had somehow managed to infiltrate one of the bunkers and take it in the name of the Resistance, at the rate she had been going.

John pawed through the piles of pages until he retrieved the fallen radio, thankfully no worse for wear after its crash course into the wall. The same couldn’t be said about the wall, he noticed, making a mental note to find something later to cover the hole in the plaster.

“Yes, go ahead,” He lowered himself back into his chair, biting back hard on his anger to prevent his sin from showing through. He had an image to protect, after all.

“It’s the deputy.”

John froze, belatedly recognizing the voice coming through the radio. If they were calling, then that must mean…

“She’s here.”

A smile slowly spread itself across his face. Finally, after weeks of biding his time and waiting for her to show herself, for her to lose patience, she was in his valley. Within his grasp. Soon, she would be exactly where he wanted her to be. 

“The deputy is in the Valley? Excellent!” He couldn’t believe his luck! “Where was she last spotted?" He’d need to gather his most elite Chosen into a hunting squad to track her down and bring her in. The bunker would need to be prepared, the confession room cleaned - it wouldn't be proper to put her there now in its current state, after the difficult confession he’d had to pull from the sinner this morning... There was so much to do, and so little time!

“Sir…” The voice interrupted his train of thought. “She’s... In Fall’s End. We’ve lost control of the town.”

The smile was immediately wiped from his face, and he blinked several times as he processed that revelation. “Are you telling me that tiny woman managed to single-handedly take out the twenty devoted I assigned to guard Fall’s End?” He growled.

“No, sir, she had help. Boshaw was with her... and Grace Armstrong.”

“Fuck!” John shouted, not giving a damn about his image anymore in that moment. He barely had the presence of mind to drop the radio down on the desk before he actually broke it this time.

Of course any good news surrounding the deputy would be sprinkled with bad news; anywhere that woman went, destruction followed. Fall’s End was a tremendous loss. The loss of the members of his flock was a tremendous loss. The failure to capture Grace Armstrong was a tremendous loss. How could such good news have turned into such a colossal failure?

He forced himself not to look at Joseph’s photograph, sure that his brother’s disappointment would somehow manage to manifest itself in the picture. He had seen the way Joseph looked when reprimanding Jacob and Faith for their failures; apparently now it was his turn to be on the receiving end of Joseph’s displeasure.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the throbbing in his head intensified. He would make her pay for making him look like a fool - both now and in the past. The deputy may have captured one of his most important outposts in the Valley, but that meant she was in the Valley. She was within his grasp, and he would make sure she was his. Soon, he would capture her, mark her, make her face her sins.

He would make her say _yes_.

\- - -

Kenna sighed as she reluctantly turned the water off, wringing the excess from her hair. It had been close to three weeks since she’d had a decent shower, and it had ended far too quickly. Glancing at her watch on the counter, she realized it had actually been close to an hour, but she would have stayed in forever if her water heater had allowed. Even if the temperature of the water for the last five minutes had been arctic, it was still glorious.

It felt odd. Being back in her home, doing something as normal as showering, with everything that had been going on lately. She had scarcely been able to think of anything but the cult lately, but for those forty-five minutes she forgot she was in the middle of a war zone, forgot she had an entire militant religious group after her, forgot about  _him_... Just the thought of John Seed brought the temporary peace she had felt crashing back down.

“We’ve been over this, remember?” She muttered, forcing herself to concentrate on perfecting the two french braids in her hair to distract from the anger bubbling up. “And you lost.”

After Whitehorse showed her John’s video with Hudson, she had seen red. All she wanted in that moment was to wrap her hands around his throat the way he had intimated he would do to Hudson. Despite her gunshot wound that had been stitched up barely ten minutes prior, it had taken the combined efforts of the Sheriff, Sharky, _and_  nurse Jennifer to restrain her and prevent her from storming out of the jail and driving straight through Hope County to get to John. She could still hear Whitehorse’s words, reprimanding her, taunting her: “ _Jumping in without a plan was what got us into this mess in the first place, Rook; we can’t make the same mistake twice. We won’t be as lucky a second time.”_  As much as she resisted, he was right. Eden’s Gate was desperate to capture her; going after John without a plan would have been tantamount to handing herself over tied up with a bright red bow. 

Hudson and Pratt would be counting on her to rescue them; she couldn’t let them down. But she also couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while waiting for Dutch and Whitehorse to come up with a plan. She had to stay busy. So each day, she and Sharky set out in the morning, hitting whatever location Whitehorse recommended - always in the Whitetails or Henbane, of course. He was careful to keep her as away from John as possible; the temptation to strangle him was still too great.

They took back strategic locations, rescued valuable allies, and helped everyone they could along the way. Dutch had wanted a resistance, and she was quickly building one. She had gone from being the rookie - barely two weeks on the job and clueless about how life in Montana worked - to now being the figurehead for the Resistance. 

A laugh erupted from her throat as she shook her head at the turn of events. She had applied to this job to get away from all of the crazy, yet had encountered more crazy in the past three weeks in Hope County than she had ever experienced in the five years of working in the drug-infested central valley of California. She hadn’t believed in a higher power since she was a kid, but if there was a God, he sure had a sick sense of humor.

 

When she finished getting ready for the night and exited the bathroom, dressed in a comfortable grey Henley and black leggings, Sharky was perched on the edge of her bed. He didn't notice when she entered the room, staring intently at the huge collage of Polaroid photographs she had lining her wall. She watched him, amused, before finally speaking up after several moments.

“Everything okay, Sharky?” He jumped like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, a sheepish look on his face.

“Shit, dep, you scared me. Yeah, no, I mean yeah, just - crazy day, right?”

She nodded, making her way over and sitting next to Sharky. He was right about that. Their plan to go after the Sacred Skies Youth Camp today had been hastily scrapped just before they reached their target. Despite the signal jammers, Jacob Seed had managed to contact her on the radio. 

_“There is someone out there… pretending to be a soldier. They are killing our brothers and sisters, and putting this Project in jeopardy. I want this coward to know that they have my attention. My hunters are coming for you. There’s nowhere you can run.”_ She could still hear his voice in her mind as if he was speaking to her now, and shivered.

“Yeah, Jacob Seed isn't someone I'm ready to tangle with yet. Lucky we were so close to the border of Holland Valley, although I don’t think Whitehorse is very happy about it,” she chuckled. He had wanted to keep her as far away from John as possible, but that wasn’t possible anymore. Jacob Seed had personally threatened her, and she was sure Faith wasn’t far behind; she couldn’t afford to stay in their regions any longer. Suddenly, Holland Valley was the safest place for her. The thought was ridiculous.

 

“You okay bein’ so close to old Johnson and not goin’ after him?” Sharky asked.

“I'll be fine,” she lied. “I’ll just have to find something else to distract me until we come up with a plan to rescue Hudson.”

“Oh shit, that reminds me! Mary May asked me to come over here to let you know there’s gonna be a big ol’ party tonight to celebrate you savin’ the town.”

“Me?” She said, surprised. “Why me? Out of the three of us, I did the least amount of saving. It was you that took out most of the guys threatening Grace. And it was her shots that took out the guards holding Mary May and Jerome captive, not to mention the pilot who was tearing the town to shreds.”

“You need to give yourself more credit, chica,” Sharky scolded. “It was your idea to go runnin’ towards the gun shots that took us to Grace in the first place, am I right?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“And who was it that drew all the fire away from me and Grace so’s we wouldn’t have to worry ’bout getting shot at?”

“Well, me, but-”

“ _Plus_ all the people we freed, you rallied them to fight back against the assholes that locked ’em up in the first place. _And_ I seem to remember some pretty well-placed shots of your own, so don’t tell me you did nothin’.”

“You make me sound way more heroic than I feel.”

“You're a badass, don’t ever doubt yourself. But seriously, it’s a party. There’s gonna be music, booze, adoring fans. C'mon, Kenna, we’ve been workin’ our asses off runnin’ all over the county, you know we deserve a break.”

Kenna stared up at the ceiling; it had been a long, stressful day. Not that any of her days had been any less stressful, but still. The shower had made her feel infinitely better, but nothing sounded better than just collapsing into her bed and sleeping for fifteen hours. She looked over at Sharky, her desire to say no broken by his pleading eyes. He was right; they deserved a break. And she could definitely use a drink. She nodded; she'd give herself just a couple hours at the party, and then she would come home and sleep. 

“Okay, what the hell.  _Somebody_ has to make sure you don’t burn down the town we just saved.”

What was the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a week(...ish)!? Woohoo! The writing gods have finally blessed me with inspiration, haha. I know I've written 10 chapters with no John and Kenna together scenes yet (unless you count the one where he blows up the bridge), but I promise it's coming veeeery soon! I did tag this as a slow burn, so you were warned in advance ;) Thanks again for all your patience when I was going through my funk!


	11. Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected interruption leads to a broken promise.

Mary May had outdone herself tonight.

Kenna followed Sharky to the center of the town, lagging behind and promising to catch up as she marveled wide-eyed at the impromptu celebration that had been thrown together so last-minute. If this was what she could do with just an hour of prep time…

The patio light strings that had previously been decorating the front of the Spread Eagle were now stretching from the bar to the homes across the street and back again, creating a canopy overhead. When those had run out, white Christmas lights were added, wrapping around trees, telephone poles, and everywhere the strands would stretch to. The whole street was bathed in a golden glow, lending warmth to the town that had seen nothing but darkness for weeks.

Portable speakers had been set up outside the bar, wired to the jukebox inside, turning the illuminated street into a dance floor. People were dancing and singing along to each song that came over the speakers, like they didn’t have a care in the world. Groups congregated under the stars, their laughter and chatter punctuating the breaks in the music.

Passing by the front of the bar, a picture caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes. This wasn’t the first time she had seen it, but never paid it much attention before; she didn’t have any reason to. But now she knew better. Now it had to go.

A bonfire burned to the side of the Spread Eagle, and Kenna made her way towards it, a safe suspicion that Sharky would have headed straight there, too. Although the evening was reasonably warm, people flocked to it. The fire promised safety, security; things they hadn’t felt since Eden’s Gate had stolen them. It filled Kenna with a growing warmth inside completely unrelated to the blaze knowing that she had a hand in restoring their peace, their happiness.

“Took you long enough,” Sharky called, and Kenna grinned as her suspicions were confirmed. He was sitting in a lawn chair, his long legs spread out, sneakers mere inches from the flames. She sniffed, half-expecting to smell burning rubber as she approached, making her way through the ring of people crowding the blaze.

“Hey, I was admiring the sights,” she responded in a tone of mock defensiveness as she settled herself down onto the ground at a slightly safer distance. “I got you something.”

“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Sharky teased. He took the confiscated poster from her outstretched arm, staring at it for several seconds before wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I mean, you _really_ shouldn’t have. They sure picked the worst fuckin’ picture of me they could find, didn’t they?”

Kenna laughed and grabbed Sharky’s wanted poster back from him, crumpling it into a ball. Tossing it into the flames like she was shooting a freethrow, she settled back beside Sharky, the pair watching the edges of the eyesore curl and disintegrate.

“You’re a wanted man no more, Sharky.”

“I’ll drink to that! Or at least I would, y’know, if I was allowed in the bar. Mary May sure can hold a grudge, it’s been like a full year since I accidentally started that fire,” he grumbled.

“Okay, you  _have_ to tell me this story,” she nudged him with her shoulder, interest piqued. 

Sharky turned to her, a glint in his eyes. “Mary May didn’t know how to make a Flaming Asshole, you believe that? That is a classic drink right there. Every self-respectin’ bartender should know how to make one, so I was just tryin’ to show her how. You know how it goes, added too much flame, not enough asshole, caught the bar rag on fire.” He shrugged. “She’s totally overreacting.”

“Tell you what, _Sparky_ ,” she teased, “I’ll go talk to Mary May for you. I think I’ve got enough pull to get her to allow you a drink, my treat. Although you’ll probably have to drink it out here, I don’t think anyone has enough pull to convince her to let you back inside after you set her baby on fire.”

“That’s fair. I knew I kept you around for somethin’, dep,” Sharky laced his fingers together behind his head, his signature grin spread across his face.

Walking through the front door into the bar, Kenna was immediately met by a wall of people. There seemed to be just as many people inside the bar as outside in the streets. All tables were filled, every barstool taken - even the piano bench had three people sitting on it. Everyone wanted to drink to celebrate their newfound freedom, or drink to forget the horrors they had lived through. Or, more likely, both.

The only breathing room was the generous space near the dartboard. Cheers went up throughout the room as Grace made bullseye after perfect bullseye, showing off that her aim with a dart was just as impressive as it was with a rifle. Kenna shook her head, feeling sorry for the poor drunk fool that thought he had any chance of besting the sharpshooter.

As luck would have it, one of the barstools emptied just as Kenna made her way over to the bar, its former occupant stumbling out the door. She quickly snagged the seat before it could be taken by anyone else, flagging down the unfamiliar employee tending the bar. The woman’s sharp, black haircut framed her round face, the blunt bangs falling just above eyes that pierced into Kenna’s like a hawk. 

“What’ll it be, my dear?” She greeted, throwing a bar towel over her shoulder. 

“Is Mary May around?” Kenna asked. She craned her neck to look around, but the bar owner was nowhere to be found. 

The woman rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I think she’s still over at old Red’s house. She went to speak to him to see if she could get him to part with some of that aged bourbon he has. Rumor has it he’s been hoarding it since the war, it’s supposed to be legendary.”

She cocked her head to the side as she looked Kenna up and down. “You look awfully familiar, but I don’t believe we’ve met yet. I’m Orianna Bauer, I help out around here when Mary May needs it,” she said.

Kenna shook her head. “I don’t think we have, either. I’m Deputy Kenna Bishop.”

Orianna snapped her fingers, her eyes widening. “That’s where I’ve seen you from! Those posters plastered everywhere, that’s you, isn’t it?” She leaned in closer. “I hear John and the cult want you bad.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Kenna groaned.

“Sorry,” Orianna’s face fell. “If it makes you feel better, they want me, too. They took my parents and my brother Brandon, but I managed to get away. Mary May took me in, offered me a job here to get me back on my feet. I don’t even know if any of them are still alive…”

She trailed off, scratching a fingernail at a charred spot on the bartop as she averted her eyes. She smoothed down the front of her blue tanktop before meeting Kenna’s sympathetic gaze again.

“But you didn’t come here to listen to my life story. Sorry, what can I get for you?”

“You don’t need to apologize, Orianna, I don't mind listening to life stories. I’ve heard my fair share over the past few weeks, and honestly, they remind me what I’m fighting for.” Kenna fished some money from her pocket and set it on the bar top. “Can I get a couple doubles of Fireball?”

“You got it - and they’re on the house,” Orianna replied, turning her back on the offered bill to grab two double shooter glasses, generously filling them to the brim with the amber liquid. Kenna paused with her hand still outstretched, reluctant to accept the gratuity. Orianna’s eyes twinkled as she placed a hand over Kenna's, gently pushing it-and the cash-back across.

“Really, deputy. It’s the least I can do after everything you did for this town,” she said.

Kenna hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said, slightly uncomfortable but grateful for the gesture. Though she didn't feel like she deserved it, it  _was_ nice being offered a token of gratitude instead of being asked for a favor. She understood of course, being the appointed figurehead of the resistance and all, but fighting everyone else’s battles for them while they just waited on the sidelines had become exhausting.

Grabbing the glasses, Kenna shot her an appreciative smile. “I’ll see you around, Orianna.”

“I have no doubt of that, my dear,” Orianna winked before heading back towards the kitchen.

Kenna made her way through the maze of the crowd back outside, jumping when the radio at her hip unexpectedly crackled to life. She paused, straining to hear anything over the clamor that echoed from all four corners of town. Setting the glasses on a nearby table, she unclipped the radio and moved further away from the bar and the crowds to hear better over the racket. Nearly as soon as the strange broadcast had started, it stopped.

“That was odd,” she muttered. “Sheriff, is that you?” She waited for a response, but no one answered. “Dutch? Hello? Is someone there?”

Ragged breathing started up in response, and she sighed. Probably just some kids playing with their parents’ walkie-talkies, that just happened to land on this frequency by chance. It was still on the channel the Sheriff’s Department had been using last. Whitehorse had elected to keep using frequency 12 on the off-chance one of their lost colleagues managed to escape or pilfer a radio. 

“Hey look, kids, I need you to pick another frequency for your games, you’re on the Sheriff’s Department channel,” she began, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I know we’re horrifically short-staffed at the moment, but we still need to keep the line open to…”

“Rook…” A familiar voice rasped, and she nearly dropped the radio in shock.

_Hudson_.

She sounded awful, but that was probably to be expected after being John’s hostage for nearly a month. From the horror stories she’d heard about John, it couldn’t have been easy. Thoughts raced through her mind as she struggled to find words to respond. Was she hurt? Was she safe? Where was she? But most pressing in her mind, _how the hell did she escape_!?

Every second of every day for the past three weeks, Kenna had felt the guilt of not dropping everything to rescue her partner gnawing at her until it was a constant, familiar knot in her stomach. She knew deep down that it was for the best, but the knot was still there, taunting her. Each night before she fell asleep, she would have to fight the invasive thoughts that she was failing her partner, letting her down, leaving her to die.

After all this time, all this guilt, Hudson managed to go and rescue herself. Kenna couldn’t help but laugh out loud; if anyone could escape John’s clutches, it was Joey Hudson.

She raised the radio up with a shaking hand. “I’m here, Hudson, I’m here. It’s so good to hear from you, where are you? We were so worried, how the hell-” she babbled on, barely pausing between words.

“Rook, listen to me, they’re in the town, you can’t trust-” Hudson’s frantic voice cut off without warning, and Kenna was met with silence on the line again.

“Hudson, is everything okay? Please tell me that you’re safe,” she pleaded, a growing sense of dread spreading through her chest. Her sudden silence could be explained, she tried to convince herself. Maybe the battery on the radio just died, it probably hadn’t been charging during her captivity. Maybe she just dropped it…

“Don’t worry, my dear, your lovely partner is perfectly safe with me.”

Goosebumps immediately pebbled her skin. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood straight up from the chill that penetrated her entire body, caused by the familiar voice that had replaced Hudson’s. A sudden wave of nausea threatened to make its escape, and she forced it to stay down.

She felt sick... and stupid. Stupid for allowing herself to believe that Hudson had escaped, even if it had only been momentary. Of course she hadn’t escaped; no matter how much of a badass Joey Hudson was, Whitehorse was right. John’s bunker was impenetrable, inescapable. It was stupid to have had any hope, because despite what the county proclaimed, there was no hope left.

“John. I would say it was a pleasure to speak to you again, but I think we both know that would be a lie,” she replied, wincing as her voice cracked, giving away the fear she had tried-and failed-to hide. It had sounded much better in her head.

She exhaled sharply, chiding herself that she needed to get it together, needed to be stronger. John Seed could sense weakness the way a shark could smell blood in the water, and she had started out the conversation by giving him the scent. 

“Now, now, is that really the way you speak to an old friend?” He practically cooed.

Kenna clenched her jaw. How dare he sound so calm, so carefree, so _amused_. She could picture the obnoxious smirk he always wore on his face, and her fear instantly began melting away into anger. 

“What do you want, John?” She asked.

“I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

“That didn’t answer my question. What do you want?” She asked again, grateful for the small miracle that he couldn’t see the scowl on her face. It was a struggle to keep her irritation contained. 

“ _You_.” John’s voice dropped an octave.

_Well, that was unexpected._ That was a line straight out of a trashy romance novel, full of unspoken promises… or in John’s case, threats. His desire for her was anything but romantic. Whatever he wanted her for was only going to be fifty shades of fucked up. 

“Hard pass.”

John clicked his tongue several times. “It would be unwise to tell me no, deputy.”

“How about this: you let Deputy Hudson go, unharmed, and I’ll ask for leniency at your sentencing. If you're lucky, you might even get paroled before you're 80,” Kenna snapped, the words spilling from her mouth before she could stop herself. Not that she wanted to.

She had bit her tongue around this man for years, ignoring his barbs, overlooking his taunts, pretending not to have noticed all the times he baited her. Everything about the man infuriated her, especially now that he had kidnapped one of the few people in the world she cared about, using her partner to get in touch with her. Each word he spoke brought her closer and closer to the edge, and it took no effort to stop fighting and let herself be thrown over.

“How about _this_ ,” John hissed, his tone taking on a much harder edge. “My Chosen will be at the silo northwest of town in one hour. You will appear, _alone_.”

Kenna scoffed. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll-”

“This is not a negotiation, _deputy_ , _”_   he interrupted, harshly enunciating each syllable of her title. “If you fail to appear, or bring any of your little friends, the next time you see your precious partner will be when I send her back to you in a body bag. Tick, tock, you’re down to fifty-nine minutes.”

Kenna could only stare open-mouthed in horror at the radio in her trembling hand, the world around her fading away. Her legs wobbled, giving out from under her. She was barely cognizant of the rough bark biting into the exposed skin of her back as she slid against the tree.

That conversation had gone south fast. It was glaringly obvious now in hindsight that he had wanted it, had expected it. She had fallen right into his trap. No, that wasn’t quite right. She had walked directly into his trap, eyes wide open, staring directly at the danger and choosing to ignore it. After all, this was John Seed, née Duncan, the greatest attorney that had ever practiced in Atlanta, possibly the whole state of Georgia... and beyond. Beating him once had been pure dumb luck; what were the odds of beating him a second time?

Her mind raced, desperately searching for a way, any way around this. Every other time she had gone up against Eden's Gate, she had come out on top. Sure, she had earned several battle scars along the way, but in the end, she had won, and that's what mattered. Why should this be any different?

Because it _was_ going to be different. All of the other cult confrontations she had been involved in, she had time to prepare, an ally watching her back... Now she had neither. If she brought Sharky or Grace along, Hudson would die. If she took the time she needed to come up with a plan, Hudson would die. If she didn’t ignore every survival instinct she had screaming at her to run away, Hudson would die.

There was infinite ways for this to play out, but only one scenario didn’t involve Hudson’s sure death.

Kenna leaned her head back against the tree and stared wide-eyed at the night sky above. There was no way to escape, nothing she could do without placing Hudson’s life in danger. There was no way around it. She was going to have to do exactly what she had promised Whitehorse she wouldn’t do. 

Hand herself over to John Seed, tied up with a bright, red bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the fun begins! Well, fun for me, anyway, probably not poor Kenna, haha. Once again, thanks to everyone who's followed along and left comments or kudos, you're all amazing! <3


	12. You Lead Me On 'Till All Hope Is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face to face once again, and put in a desperate situation...

One month ago, if someone had told Kenna that she’d someday be single-handedly leading a fight against a militaristic doomsday cult, and would willingly be handing herself over as a prisoner to one of the leaders who specialized in torture, she probably would have Baker Acted that person. A month ago, the thought was absurd; it was amazing how a bit of time changed everything.

Kenna paced back and forth behind the trees, searching for a distraction to keep her from checking her watch for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. It was no use; nothing held her attention for more than a few fleeting seconds before her mind wandered back to the absurdity she was about to throw herself into. 

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” she muttered. “You just had to ask what could go wrong, didn’t you? Famous last words.”

With a sigh, and only a half-hearted effort not to, she gave up and looked down at her watch. Ten minutes before the one-hour deadline was up.  _Just enough time to run away_ , she thought, only half kidding.

She glanced back in the direction of Fall’s End to again make sure that no one had followed her here, even though there was no reason to suspect she had been. Her alibi had been solid; no one would even think to look for her until the morning… and by then she’d be long gone. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, settling in with the chill that hadn’t left her since hearing John’s voice.

This was the right thing to do, the choice that led to no pain for the people she cared about… No physical pain, anyway. 

“I’m sorry, Sharky,” she whispered, the words bringing a small measure of peace. He couldn’t hear her, but the simple act of saying them aloud made her feel a bit better. When he discovered what she had done, he would be devastated. He had been the closest friend she’d made in a long time. Ever since the night they met, they had been inseparable. He never would have let her go alone. Knowing Sharky, he never would have let her go at all. That wasn’t an option; John made it _very_ clear what would happen if she didn’t follow his instructions.

Leaving him in the dark was best for everyone, but that knowledge was of little comfort. It was bad enough that she had to leave him without saying a real goodbye. She had at least said goodnight (after faking a crippling headache in a performance that was, in her opinion, Oscar-worthy) but that wasn’t quite the same. When Sharky responded that he’d see her in the morning, she’d nearly lost it. After the words left his lips, she turned away and rushed to her house before any of the tears rimming her lower lids had a chance to fall. As soon as she burst through her door, the dam holding her tears back broke. She allowed herself to ugly cry for a full five minutes to get it out of her system, figuring it was better to get it out now than when she was with the Peggies.

Once she calmed down, she finished her preparations. She left her radio on the counter; she’d done all the lying she could stand for the night. If Dutch or Whitehorse tried to contact her, and happened to ask where she was or what she was doing, she’d probably end up singing like a canary.

Before heading out, she made sure to grab her pistol and boot knife from her bedside table. She’d considered leaving the weapons at home; after all, they were probably going to get confiscated, but until that happened she’d need protection. The way her luck had been going lately, she’d end up getting mauled by one of the overly-plentiful wolverine population. Or maybe one of Hope County’s infamous murderous turkeys would be what took her out. Either way, it would not be a pleasant way to go out.

The leaves in the treetops above her shook as a grouse took flight, soaring into the sky in the same direction she needed to be going. She watched it until it disappeared from view, envious of the freedom to go anywhere it chose that it possessed. Who knew if she’d ever have the same freedom again after tonight. She glanced at her watch again; it was time. The pit in her stomach grew as she rose to her feet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the trees, making her way across the field to the designated meeting point.

A white cargo van with the cross of Eden’s Gate splashed across both sides, and an older, black Shelby Mustang were already waiting for her near the silo. She could see two men seated in the front seats of the vans, no doubt waiting for her to appear. A solid panel behind their seats prevented her from seeing whether anyone else was in the back. Even squinting it was impossible to see inside the Mustang. Every window, including the windshield, was tinted pure black, the visible light percentage far lower than the state’s legal minimum.

She clenched her jaw as a twinge of annoyance flickered. Even though it was minor in the scheme of things, especially compared to all of the other crimes they had been committing lately, it was yet another law that Eden’s Gate thought themselves to good to follow. She made a mental note to torch that damn car if she ever got away. 

The two side doors to the van opened as she drew near. Two heavily armed men wearing long, black trench coats stepped out of either side. Their eyes were filled with such an intense hatred that it momentarily stopped her in her tracks. She shook it off and walked closer, stopping about twenty feet away from the vehicles.

She seemed to have that effect on every Peggie she encountered.  _Aren’t they supposed to be religious_ , she mused, _love your neighbor and all that_? Either Joseph left that commandment out of his sermons, or every single cultist had conveniently missed that message. Though judging by their actions, it seemed that they had missed _several_ key lessons, most notably thou shalt not steal and thou shalt not kill...

The back door to the van opened and interrupted her thoughts. A third man climbed out, a rope in his hands leading back inside. He yanked it taut, and a hooded prisoner prisoner was pulled out by bound wrists. They stumbled and attempted to catch themselves, but got caught up in the rope and fell to the ground. As they hit the dirt below, the prisoner’s hood was knocked loose, and the wind felt like it was knocked out of Kenna’s lungs along with it.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise as the prisoner was unmasked, staring in disbelief and not trusting that her eyes were accurately reflecting the scene in front of her. Like a scene out of a cartoon, her eyes darted back and forth between the cultists, Hudson, back to the cultists. When no one disappeared or magically morphed into a different person, she settled her gaze for good on Hudson, who had yet to notice her. 

Hudson’s face was full of rage, visible even under the duct tape covering her mouth, as she glared at her captors. The seething hatred under the surface was palpable until her eyes finally landed on Kenna, and everything changed. Those eyes - eyes that never betrayed even a hint of fear, even in the face of danger - changed to reflect absolute horror. She unleashed a guttural scream, shaking her head and trying to wrenching her arm from her captor, which only succeeded in earning herself a backhand to the face. Kenna flinched as the crack echoed through the still night air, and she had to fight off the urge to shoot the bastard right then and there.

It was obvious Deputy Hudson had not been treated kindly over the last few weeks. She looked even worse than she had sounded over the radio. Bruises in various stages of healing colored her face, and lacerations over her cheek and the bridge of her nose further marred it. From the way she was holding herself, more injuries were likely concealed under her uniform, which was dirty and far too baggy on her formerly athletic frame. Her hair was greasy, like it hadn’t been washed since before they saw each other last, and much of it had fallen out of her signature braid. 

The more Kenna saw, the worse she felt about following Whitehorse’s orders. She should have attempted a rescue sooner. At least if she had gone against his orders, she could have spared Hudson some of the torture she had obviously been subjected to. Even if she had ended up getting captured, at least some of that torture could have been directed at her instead of Hudson. She just wished she could actually rescue her, and get the both out of this situation; it was a shame that the only way to help Hudson was to put herself in the same position.

_Unless it wasn’t_ , the sudden thought hit her like a ton of bricks. Trying to fight her way out of this had never even been an option, and she hadn’t even considered it. But then, she hadn’t considered the possibility that Hudson would be present when she gave herself over to John’s men; doing so would just be risking a rescue attempt. No way would they be stupid enough to bring her along.

The corners of her mouth twitched as she fought to suppress a smile; she had never felt so glad to have been wrong.

Kenna sized up the cult members making up the capture party John had sent. They were large men, and each could have played as an offensive lineman if they had chosen less murder-y extracurricular activities. No doubt they were the cult VIPs that Jerome had warned her about, of course John would send no less than the best to procure his prize. At least there weren’t very many of them. For that, she was unsure whether to be insulted or thankful. There had been three in the van, and there had to be one, at most two in the Shelby.

Four men, maybe five, max. They weren’t great odds, but she had faced worse lately. She owed it to Hudson to try - better late than never.

She took a tentative step forward. The two men that had been in the front seats responded by leveling their rifles at her chest. 

“Stop right there, sinner!” One of them called, his voice booming. He was the biggest man out of the trio, and judging from his position and the authority conveyed in his tone, he was the designated leader. The scowl he wore on his face was likely intended to be intimidating, but far more so was the Eden’s Gate cross tattooed across his forehead in blood red ink. She momentarily considered abandoning her plans, alarmed by the level of fanaticism he had to possess to allow the cult’s logo to be permanently etched on his face.

“Toss your weapons off to the side,” he ordered. “Slowly now, girl!”

She raised her left hand the same height as her hammering heart to keep it in sight. Her right slowly reached down to unclip the buckle on her thigh holster. Glancing over at Hudson, her attention was drawn back towards the man who had struck her.

_He’ll be the first one to go_ , she decided, a cold detachment coloring her thoughts as she aligned her fingers on the grooves of the stock. She had seen too much death, too much destruction, too much hell at the hands of Eden’s Gate to feel any guilt over plotting their murders. Anyone involved in the cult was just as guilty as their brethren. These men dug their graves long ago, she was just helping to fill the holes in the ground.

She began pulling the firearm out of the holster slowly, not wanting to cause any alarm. But before she could actually put her half-cocked plan into action, the driver’s door to the Shelby finally opened and a fourth man stepped out. He pushed up the blue sunglasses that he was wearing and placed them on top of his hair, revealing the familiar, impossibly blue eyes.

She felt all of the color drain from her face, and her right arm dropped limply to her side.

“Now _this_ is the picture I was hoping for!” John called as he aligned his thumbs and index fingers together to form a rectangle. He held his arms out in front of him to capture her shocked expression in his mock picture frame, the smirk that never seemed to leave his face adding a further insult.

“I’ll take it from here, Adam,” he said, patting the tattooed Peggie on the shoulder. The man nodded, gazing at John with a worshipful look as he took several steps back.

John stepped in front of him, blocking him from her view as he made his way over to her with a carefree expression on his face, either oblivious or indifferent to the firearm in her hand. Though to be fair, at this point _she_ was barely aware of the firearm in her hand, either.

Kenna studied him as he stood in front of her. He looked to be wearing the same outfit he had been wearing the last time she saw him, but she couldn’t be entirely sure. She had been so shocked by the ghost from her past reapppearing that she hadn’t paid very much attention to his attire. Now, with him standing mere feet away, it was hard to miss the details. His trench coat looked to be custom, the fabric covered in a design of tiny planes and propellers. Leather adorned his shoulders, collar and just above his wrists. Even the brass buttons were tailored to his liking, each emblazoned with the scales of justice.

She bit her lip, fighting back a snarky comment. _Some things never change, I see you’re still extra as fuck._

His shirt and waistcoat were similar to the clothing she had known him to favor years ago. They were no doubt Gucci or some other fancy and obscenely expensive Italian brand . Although, back then his shirts had been buttoned all the way; now several buttons were unfastened, open all the way to the top of his vest, exposing an angry red scar across his shirt. The scar almost looked like letters - letters that had been carved into his chest and crossed out with a knife…

A pang of sympathy bubbled up, and she forced it back down as her eyes trailed back up to meet his. She didn’t know what he had done to the person who caused him that injury, but he probably deserved it.

John held the eye contact for several seconds before breaking his gaze away and began his own scrutiny of her. His eyes left a burning trail over her body as they roamed over her figure, from head to toe, tracing every curve, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. As he made his way back up, he made a point to reciprocate her earlier stare, leering at her chest before returning his gaze to a more respectable location.

She resented him making her feel like a helpless fawn being hunted by a hungry wolf; s _he_ was supposed to be the wolf here, not him. His appearance shot her plans to shit. He was right in the way of the man she had been a fraction of a second away from shooting. She sighed; everything seemed to go wrong when John was involved.

Shooting another glance at Hudson’s battered face, she felt her resolve harden. There was no way she was going to let Joey go back to John’s torture dungeon. Maybe John showing up didn’t have to be such a bad thing. Sure, it ruined her previous plan, but she had just been improvising anyway. Maybe this presented an even more golden opportunity...

Before she could think any further, she flicked her wrist up in a single, fluid motion. She raised her arm up, adjusting the angle of her hand to keep the firearm aimed directly at the center of John’s chest. 

“Change of plans. Call your men off and let Deputy Hudson go if you want to live. Or, how did you phrase it again?” She released the safety and cocked the hammer back with an audible click. “The next time Joseph and Jacob see their precious brother will be in a body bag.”

“You heard the deputy, lower your weapons,” John called over his shoulder. There was not a single trace of fear in his voice; instead, he sounded... amused. She felt the confidence begin draining out of her in a slow drip; there hadn’t been much to begin with, and it was gone before she even had a chance to steel her nerves.

This was not the reaction she had expected. Fear, surprise, anger, sure… But not amusement. It was unsettling, and it was a struggle to maintain focus with the haze of fear that had begun clouding her own mind.

John stared at her for several seconds before speaking, his piercing eyes cutting deep into her soul. “You know, my brother Jacob has a certain, _fascination_ , with the way the brain works. Pray that you never have the misfortune to learn about it first-hand, it’s rather… barbaric.”

Without breaking eye contact, he took a single, slow step to the left. Instinct took over as she mirrored his movements, stepping to her right to make sure he stayed right in front of her. Mostly because she needed to watch him, but he was also acting as a human shield in between her and the Chosen. The hatred in their eyes had only intensified after she threatened their Herald; the first chance they got, they’d take her out.

“He is right, though, the human brain is a fascinating thing. The way it can send instantaneous signals to the rest of your body without you even thinking about it. Did you know there are approximately thirty different stress hormones released by the brain when it is in a state of fear? They are directly responsible for each of fear’s effects on the body.” He performed another quick appraisal of her before taking another step. “You look like you’re feeling several of them right now. Increased heart rate, sweaty palms, dilated pupils, trembling…”

“Is there a point to this lecture, Professor?” She snapped, unsure whether she was more annoyed at his accurate assessment or more annoyed at having to continue the dance to stay in front of him. He seemed intent on trying to get behind her, but she refused to take her eyes off of him, mirroring his movements while keeping her pistol trained on him.

“Tunnel vision is one of the most interesting symptoms of fear. Your brain subconsciously sends signals to your eyes, which lock on to the stimulus which it perceives to be the most dangerous. Peripheral vision decreases, hyper-focusing all of your attention on the threat in front of you, to the exclusion of anything outside of that tunnel you’ve created…” He glanced over her shoulder, and his eyes gleamed. “For example, another unexpected threat could pop up behind you, and you’d never know until it was too late.”

Tunnel vision or no, it was impossible to miss the implied threat, and alarm bells went off in her mind. Blood rushed to her head, nearly drowning out the sound of Hudson’s muffled scream - but it couldn’t mask the loud crack of the gunshot that echoed from behind her, or her own startled cry.

Pain seared just below her shoulder blade, jerking her arm up and sending the pistol flying out of her hands. It landed several feet away, and she broke into an immediate run towards it, the fight-or-flight instinct taking control. But after only two steps, her legs grew wobbly and nearly buckled beneath her. In fact, _all_ of her muscles felt like they were growing weaker. They were hardened jelly that was slowly melting, and soon she would just be a puddle on the ground. She stopped in her tracks, swaying on her feet as a wave of nausea fought for dominance with the dizziness setting in.

Something was wrong. This wasn’t the first time she had been shot; bullets weren’t supposed to cause this kind of reaction. They hurt like a bitch, and the shock and blood loss caused weakness, but this was different. This was seriously, terribly, horribly fucking _wrong_.

“Whasssss happ’ning t’me?” She slurred, her tongue feeling too thick for her mouth. John stared down at her with his arms crossed, but he didn’t need to respond. She had her answer as the tell-tale white sparkles began creeping in on the outskirts of her vision.  _Bliss_.

That bullet must have been one of those Bliss bullets the cultists back at the jail had said to use. She nearly lost her balance looking over her shoulder, and was greeted by the sight of the tattooed cultist that had made his way behind her. She realized in horror that John hadn’t been trying to get behind her. He had been trying to distract her while the man made his way behind her to get a clear shot, and she had been too distracted to notice.

“No,” she faltered, falling to her hands and knees. She tried to fight through the Bliss, her muscles screaming as she tried to crawl away in a desperate bid for freedom. Before she could get far, John’s boots blocked her path, forcing her to stop. He squatted in front of her, and she shivered as he dragged the back of his index finger down her cheek before tilting her chin up to look at him.

“Hope is a powerful thing,” he cooed. “Even in the face of impossible odds, if one has even a single thread of hope, they’ll fight with everything they have. You certainly believed you would be walking out of here with your precious partner, now didn’t you? Four men, two of whom had high-powered rifles trained on you, and you still fought because you had hope.”

She choked back a sob as she tried to look away, flopping her head to the side. He turned her face back, forcing her to look at him as his eyes hardened, any mercy that had been within them evaporated.

“But now you see, there is no hope for you. Now you see that no matter what you do, no matter how stacked in your favor the odds may seem to be, I will always win. Even if you’re holding a gun to my heart,” he sneered as he released her chin with a cruel smile.

“Sin is pervasive. It drives us to do unspeakable acts. I know the feelings that drive you. I know them intimately…” He trailed off, a far away look in his eyes. He shook his head, and a more determined expression settled over his face. “But I can help you, deputy. I can wash away these sins.”

She wanted to say something, _anything_. Tell him what a lunatic he was, unleash a string of obscenities that would make a pirate blush, beg for mercy, but all that came out was a pathetic whine as even her vocal chords failed her. 

“Shhh, don’t fight it,” John shushed her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears. He leaned closer, bringing his forehead against hers, his voice distorted as it drifted farther and farther away. The white in her vision gave way to black, and she let herself be consumed by the Bliss.

“The harder you resist, well… The harder I’ll have to scrub your soul…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been soooo excited about this chapter for a long time, and even more so that it's finally to a point where I'm happy enough with it to share! I know I say this every time, but thank you to everyone who is still following along. I know I'm not the most frequent updater, and I appreciate each and every one of you for being so patient with me!


	13. Madman Across the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would cleanse her sins, whether she wanted them to be or not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: One sentence mention of past child abuse/self-harm

“We must wash away our past. We must expose our sins. We must atone…” John paused. He hoped it would appear to be for dramatic effect, instead of what it really was. It would be damaging to his reputation if it was obvious that he had forgotten the words to the Baptism ceremony, words that he himself had once written.

As he searched his mind for the next part of the sermon, he glanced down at the Book of Joseph, skimming the words until he found the rest of the passage.

“…for only then may we stand in the light of God, and walk through His gate unto Eden.”

It had been pure, dumb luck that the Book of Joseph was open to the correct page. Usually it was open only for show, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had needed to refer to it. He had been repeating the same words several times each week for years now. At this point, he didn’t even have to think about what he was saying. The words came second nature, as easy as breathing.

Until tonight.

He narrowed his eyes at the thrashing body of the deputy underneath the surface of the waters outside of the Lamb of God Sacristy. This memory lapse was _her_ fault. He had never before forgotten even a single word from this sermon. Hell, he could even remember his opening statement from the first jury trial he had ever tried all those years ago. The only difference between this and the hundreds of previously perfectly recited sermons was the presence of the deputy. Kenna’s soul was replete with sin, her body too small of a vessel to fully contain it all. It was overflowing, tainting the water in which he was standing, leaching the very words from his mind.

It was her fault.

A splash to his left drew his attention away from her, and he had to stop himself from lashing out in anger as he remembered just in time that he was in the middle of the ceremony. One of the new converts was brought above water, a wave of peace visible washing over his face from his soul being purified. The Bliss infused into the water probably wasn’t hurting, either.

John regarded him. “Are you ready to accept the word of Joseph into your heart, and renounce your sinful ways?” He asked, fighting the urge to return his sights back to Kenna. 

“I am,” the man nodded in response, a look of awe still spread over his features. 

“Then I baptize you in the name of The Father,” he said as he dipped his thumb in the water and pressed it to the man’s forehead, officially marking that the man had been cleansed. He went through the same motions for the woman brought before him, washing away her sins as well. That left only the deputy.

He knew he should have been dividing his attention between everyone who was being baptized tonight, not just Kenna. She was just one person; he was responsible for guiding _all_ of the lost souls to the gates of salvation, the gates that would lead them to Eden. He couldn’t ignore the forest for a single, tiny, five-foot-two tree, no matter their history. But as he watched distorted figure held under the water, he couldn’t help it. It was just too damn satisfying to watch her struggling under the weight of her sins.

Kenna’s hands darted above the water, leaving angry scratches as she dragged her nails down her captor’s forearms. Adam didn’t waver. In fact, he barely seemed to notice, keeping her just underneath the surface, waiting patiently for just the right time. He had earned the honor of baptizing the elusive deputy, and his performance was not disappointing. But then again, John hadn’t expected it to be. Adam was a seasoned veteran, by now nearly as experienced as John at the baptisms. He didn’t get to be John’s right-hand man by disappointing him.

His trust was further reinforced as Adam pulled her up just as her hands loosened their grip and started to slip beneath the water, the lack of oxygen finally taking its toll. Kenna gasped as soon as her head broke the surface. She immediately choked on the water droplets she inhaled, barely given any time to recover before she was herded in front of him. Her irises were tinted green from the Bliss exposure, in sharp contrast to the gold around her pupils which had not been affected. Though they were glazed over, they still managed to reflect pure, unadulterated fury. If it were possible for looks to kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. He focused on keeping the emotion from his face. Of course he would have to listen to her full confession first to be sure, but if he were (still) a gambling man, he would have put money on Wrath being one of her sins.

Her chest heaved with another cough, drawing his eyes lower as he drank in the sight of the rest of her. She was dripping wet, her clothes clinging to her body, hugging every curve. He counted three out of the six buttons on her shirt were undone, giving him a teasing taste of what lie underneath. His emotionless masked slipped as a smirk spread across his face; he knew just where he’d place that Wrath tattoo...

Clearing his throat, he looked back down into her eyes before his thoughts went any further. “Are you ready to accept the word of Joseph into your heart, and renounce your sinful ways?” 

His heart fluttered in anticipation of her answer, and she wasted no time in giving it to him.

“You and Joseph can both go fuck yourselves.”

That all but confirmed her sin. The entire Sacristy was dead quiet. Even the wildlife seemed to hold its breath as it anticipated his reaction. Surely they were all awaiting an explosion - his own wrath was legendary, after all. But they would have to be disappointed as John feigned a look of shock, choking back the smirk that threatened to emerge. Her response was only surprising in that it was surprisingly less vulgar than what he had expected. While it would have been magnificent for his favorite word to fall from her lips, he would hear it soon enough. Tonight, it wouldn’t have been satisfying. To truly learn what the Power of Yes was all about, she needed to be torn down to her basic building blocks so she could be built anew. She needed to be _broken_.

And he was more than happy to start teaching her early. She had disrespected him, and worse than that she had disrespected the Father. Though it had been expected, it was blasphemous, unacceptable, unforgivable. She needed to learn her place. He felt a shiver of anticipation; it was going to be oh-so enjoyable breaking her. Maybe even more so than breaking Hudson had been.

John snapped the sacred book shut, the resulting echo the only audible sound in all of Holland Valley. Returning her murderous look with a matching one of his own, he took several steps toward her, taking his time in looking her up and down. She refused to back away and held her chin high in spite. He handed the book over her shoulder to Adam, sliding even closer. 

“This one’s not clean,” he said, savoring the flash of confusion that crossed her eyes. Confusion turned to fear as his arms darted out, hands wrapping around her forearms as he threw her unceremoniously backwards into the water.

Holding her down personally was even more rapturous than watching her held down from afar. Doing it himself, he could feel each thrash of her limbs as she tried in vain to pull away from his iron grip. He could see the desperation in those eyes as she fought with everything she had. He could relish in the knowledge that he literally held her life in his hands…

Though he wanted nothing more than to watch her struggle longer, he had a job to do. After a few seconds, he hauled her back above the surface and brought her close to his face.

“Would you like to change your answer?”

“That’s my final answer, Regis.” Her voice cracked from the stress of her second near-drowning, but the sarcasm was no less obvious. She was swaying on her feet despite his strong grip on her arms, but still stood strong in her defiance.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue, mentally adding Pride to the list of her sins. “Still not clean,” he growled as he grabbed her again.

At least now he’d get to watch her under the water again. Maybe this time he would test her limits. _Nearly_ drowning hadn’t dampened her spark at all, but perhaps _actually_ drowning would teach her-

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?”

John froze at the sound of his brother’s voice as an immediate wave of shame and fear washed over him. He managed to stop himself from submerging Kenna just in time - a single second longer and she would have been completely under water. He swallowed hard and brought her back to a standing position, releasing his grip on her. Thankfully she made no moves to run as she, too, stood frozen under the weight of Joseph’s scrutiny.

Hunching his shoulders, John he slowly turned his body towards Joseph. He cast his eyes downward, unable to bear even the thought of looking Joseph in the eye. Even without looking he could feel Joseph’s piercing eyes on him, feel his thoughts being read like an open book, his sins double-underlined, in bold, 72-point font.

“No, Joseph…” John trembled, his voice just above a whisper. He felt pathetic, retreating back into the sad little boy he used to be. The one who was desperate for approval and would do anything to obtain it. No matter how painful, his answer was always the same - _yes_ …

There was one bright spot in this humiliation - at least Kenna’s mouth was shut for once. But he couldn’t ignore the look of sympathy he saw in his peripheral vision as she looked sideways at him.

On second thought, he ached for one of her smart-ass remarks. It was preferable to her pity.

“You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that. Bring her unto me,” Joseph instructed.

John swallowed the lump in his throat, but was otherwise still frozen in his spot, unable to move - not even for Joseph. His shame was crippling, threatening to drown him. How ironic that would be. He flinched at the hand placed on his shoulder and looked up into Adam’s kind, brown eyes. The man wordlessly nodded in understanding before turning his sights back to Kenna, shoving her forward to where Joseph was waiting.

John stared back at the gentle current below, unaware of how much time was passing. He could hear the faint hums of Joseph and Kenna murmuring to each other, but didn’t bother trying to make out what they were saying. If Joseph wanted him to hear their conversation, he would have been able to. This was obviously intended to be private. He wouldn’t intrude; he couldn’t let Joseph down _again_ , especially not so soon. The thought was unbearable.

He raised his gaze just high enough to see the Eden’s Gate cross on the back of Adam’s shirt. This was far from the first time he had come through when John had needed him, and he knew it would not be the last. He’d have to get him something to show his appreciation. He racked his brain for ideas, flipping through the memories of everything Adam had revealed in his own Confession. He had mentioned his favorite way to unwind before joining the Project had been sitting on his porch, a glass of scotch in his hand. Maybe a bottle of some of the swill that had been confiscated from that dive bar in Fall’s End; Adam had also mentioned frequenting that dump in the past. Alcohol consumption was frowned upon, but no one was free from sin; John knew that all too well. Even Joseph was not immune to indulging in sinful pleasures, he was just skilled at keeping his indiscretions secret. A quick confession and all would be well again. He wouldn’t be able to deliver any of the  _other_ things Adam had confessed to enjoying, that was for sure.

He frowned. He shouldn’t even be in the position of having to thank Adam for doing what he couldn’t. He had never let a sinner get the best of him, _ever_. Not during the Cleansing, the Confession, the Atonement, before the Reaping or after… He had always been in control. Until tonight.

This was her fault, too. Kenna had bested him in Atlanta before, too - at least that time hadn’t been in front of Joseph. What was about this woman that got so deep under his skin? Whatever it was, he would dig just as deep into her skin to find out. Usually he granted the sinners a night’s rest between the Cleansing and the beginning of their Confession to allow them to reflect and prepare to lay bare their souls, but not this time. Her Confession would begin  _tonight_.

His thoughts were interrupted as another hand rested on his shoulder, this touch from a more gentle hand. Joseph’s hand. John swallowed hard before forcing himself to look up into the eyes of his brother. Joseph’s blue eyes, a near-perfect match to his own shade of blue, were tinted green by the yellow sunglasses he always hid behind, but held none of the scorn or judgment he was expecting.

Joseph rested his forehead against his own in a tender embrace. The contact sent warmth flowing through him, thawing the ice in his veins. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he allowed himself to start digging out of the hole he was wallowing in. Joseph would understand his transgression. Joseph would forgive him. He always had, no matter how great his sin.

It was going to be okay.

“This one shall reach the Atonement,” Joseph instructed in a quiet voice, “or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

His world felt like it had come crashing down like an unstable house of cards as he stood frozen once again. Joseph’s words cut him deeper than any of the injuries that the Duncans had ever inflicted on him, deeper than any of the punishments he had imposed on himself.

It was _not_ going to be okay. 

“Yes, Joseph,” he whispered, only vaguely aware of the shaky autopilot response that came from his lips. He didn’t even bother to hide the hurt in his eyes as he stared after Joseph’s retreating figure, not looking away even after his brother had disappeared from sight.

Joseph had threatened to shut the Gates of Eden to him. His own brother. The man who had once sworn to protect him, and had promised to never leave him again. Joseph had left him once, although not by choice the sting of his abandonment still lingered. The psychological injury from their separation was still not fully healed, and he bore physical scars from it as well. Joseph had promised that would never happen again. The thought of Joseph leaving him again made his knees nearly buckle. He couldn’t lose his family again. He  _wouldn’t._

As John’s gaze landed back on Kenna, the devastation boiled over into rage. Joseph had picked this sinner, this veritable _snake_ , over his own flesh and blood. What happened to all of the promises over the years that Joseph had made about marching through Eden’s Gate together? They were supposed to be together forever, in eternal paradise. That future was now at risk because Joseph judged _her_ important enough that she had to be saved. At the expense of his own brother.

At least she had the decency to look terrified.

“You will confess,” he clenched his teeth as he spoke through them, not bothering to keep his voice even. He stretched up to his full height, towering over her. He wanted her to feel his wrath pouring over her, coating her, soaking into every pore, and was rewarded when she shrank back.

“Every sin you’ve ever committed, no matter how petty, no matter how small, I will pull from you. Then we’ll see if you’re worthy of Atonement.”

He was going to make her say  _yes_ if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh boy, I really meant to finish editing and post this before I went on vacation, but then I, well, went on vacation. I planned to finish editing while on the plane, but I'm terrified of flying so I basically spent every flight white-knuckling the armrests. And then I meant to finish whenever I had any free time, but I severely overestimated the amount of free time I'd have - which was none. (Relaxing on the beach doesn't count as free time, shhh!) 
> 
> TL;DR: I suck at updating. I think you already know this by now though xD


	14. Despite All My Rage I Am Still Just A Rat In A Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor gets some unexpected justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W for implied past abuse. Also, I dunno if I should put a T/W for this, but just to be on the safe side, T/W for an old person getting punched in the face. But spoiler alert, they totally deserve it.

_Four hundred nineteen, four hundred twenty-one, four hundred twenty-two…_

Kenna stared at the small window set in the thick metal door to her cell. Watching, waiting. She drummed her fingers as she waited. It was taking much longer than usual. Finally, at four hundred sixty-seven seconds, the Peggie guard passed by, at the perfect height for her see his scraggly hair and unkempt beard from the tiny window. He had taken forty-two seconds longer than last time. Usually his rounds were right around seven minutes, but he had taken nearly an entire minute longer than he usually did. Guess even holier-than-thou Peggies had to answer the call of nature occasionally.

She grimaced, erasing the thought from her mind as she began her count again.

_One, two, three…_

That was the ninth time the guard had passed by her cell on his infinite loop around the bunker. She had been in here for a little over an hour. So much for John coming to pay her a visit soon, contrary to what the tattooed asshole had claimed when he had thrown her in here. Thrown wasn’t an exaggeration, either. Tattooed Asshole had shoved her so hard she had practically flown, landing hard on the concrete floor. He had towered over here, basking in the fear and uncertainty that filled her face as she looked up at him from her position on the floor. Probably enjoying the view of her on her hands and knees, too, he seemed the type.

_Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…_

Looking back, it probably hadn’t been smart to respond to him with sarcasm. But when he was looming over her with his threat that  _John would be paying her a visit_ _soon,_ shecouldn’t help herself. She’d picked herself up off the floor, rolling her eyes as she asked if his visit would be for conjugal purposes. And then she’d wound up back on the floor again. Apparently, hinting that a pure and perfect Herald of Eden’s Gate was going to engage in inappropriate activities with a sinner such as herself was blasphemy, punishable with a backhand to the face. Lesson learned.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised by his response. He had already shown he had a tendency to hit women. She really needed to think before opening her mouth next time. Or, better yet, not open her mouth at all; that was probably the smartest thing to do, since her mouth tended to get her in trouble. Her face had taken enough damage for the day. At least her lip wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the sting on the side of her face still remained. She ran her fingertips along her cheekbone and winced; in a day or two she would be sporting a very colorful bruise.

Even though he wore the typical Peggie clothes that fit him as well as a potato sack, it was obvious he was fit. He was three hundred pounds of anger shoved in a two hundred fifty pound frame. She was lucky a split lip and a bruise were the only souvenirs he’d left.

 _Ninety, ninety-one - wait, didn’t I already count the nineties?_ She squinted in concentration. _Yes? So one hundred then - no, now I should be higher than that. Shit._

Kenna sighed in frustration as she lost count. There was no point in starting over until the guard passed by again. But without the counting damming the thoughts she’d been trying so hard to avoid, she’d have to face them.

And face them she did. Within seconds she was swept away in the conflicting emotions she had been distracting herself from wrestling with. Fear, regret, anger, sympathy… After everything that had happened, John Seed should have been the absolute _last_ person she had any sympathy for. Logically she knew it, but it was impossible to reconcile what her mind knew and her heart felt. 

Joseph’s appearance had saved her from another unpleasant near-drowning experience. She should have been grateful he had shown up when he did. Relieved that she’d been granted a temporary reprieve in inhaling river water. Elated that John had been metaphorically caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

But she hadn’t felt any of those things.

After seeing the fear radiating off of every inch of John’s body, she was instantly terrified as well. It had only intensified when Joseph had pulled her aside for a private conversation. She had barely even been able to breathe, could feel the color draining from her already pale skin. Joseph had been saying something to her, but she couldn’t concentrate on any of it.

All she could think of was the expression on John’s face.

She knew that expression. Intimately. The fear that crossed his face was unmistakable. She had seen it reflected back at herself too many times _not_ to recognize it.

She should have felt safe being pulled away from John; he had just been trying to drown her again. But being in such close proximity to the source of John’s terror only multiplied her panic. When something was scary enough to frighten a monster, it became harder to be afraid of the monster. Whatever it was that terrified the monster - now _that_ was worth being afraid of.

Her fear only relented when Joseph focused those piercing eyes of his on John instead of her. It had returned almost immediately, after Joseph’s warning to John. The thought of John’s fate being irrevocably tied to hers with the proclamation that she had to reach the atonement, whatever that was, or the gates of eden, whatever those were, would be shut to him was terrifying in another way. His sentence had basically been gibberish, but it was ominous gibberish.

If atonement was even half as violent as the whispered stories of the methods John used in extracting confessions, she was in trouble.

That settled it. She needed to get out of here. But problem number one, she had no firearm to help her fight her way out. Tattooed Asshole hadn’t been kind enough to retrieve her pistol for her from the dirt where it had been knocked out of her hand. Surprise, surprise.

On the bright side, at least he had been too dumb to search her for other weapons. She still had her boot knife, but that led to problem number two: she had no way of using it yet. If she pulled it out now, whoever was watching the feed from the two cameras positioned in the back corners would see it. They’d raise the alarm and the only piece of her father she still had would be gone forever. That was _not_ an option.

Problem number three, she was locked in a cell behind a thick metal door. Tattooed Asshole was sitting watch right outside. Even in the event she got through the door, she’d have to go through him to get any farther. It was unlikely she’d even get _that_ far because of the peeping toms in problem two. She was stuck, with no way out, in an impenetrable bunker with no hope for a rescue mission, the only real way out if John himself took her out of the bunker.

On second thought, that probably should have been problem one.

“You’ve got a visitor.” Kenna jumped at the sound of the deep voice. The door creaked open, and Tattooed Asshole’s large frame filled the doorway.

“Play nice, sinner. I’d hate to have to mess up that pretty face of yours any more,” he leered down at her.

“Can’t do much worse than what you’ve done to your face,” she muttered. Too late, she remembered she was supposed to be keeping her mouth shut around him.  _Whoops_. Hopefully it had been too quiet for him to understand her.

No such luck. He took a menacing step towards as his lip curled. He stopped in his tracks as a small, familiar voice lilted into Kenna’s cell from behind him.

“Adam, John promised me five minutes with her before her Confession. Be a dear and leave her conscious. If I have to wait for her to wake up, John will have to wait too, and you know how much he hates being kept waiting.”

He grumbled, but the fire thankfully left his eyes. The visitor stepped around him. She shooed him back outside the cell before settling her gaze on Kenna. 

It felt like a fifty-pound weight had landed on her chest, preventing her lungs from expanding, and Kenna couldn’t draw breath. She never thought she’d hear that voice again, never thought she’d see that face again. Never thought she’d have any reason to. But here she was, in the flesh. The gray-haired, cardigan-loving, musty-smelling, wrinkled flesh.

_Fucking Nancy._

She swallowed and forced herself to take a breath, hoping it wasn’t too obvious how shaky the breath had been.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face to me after what you did.” Kenna sat up, glaring into the sunken gray eyes of the woman she used to consider family. Before, you know, the whole betraying-everyone-she-worked-with-along-with-the-entire-county thing. 

Nancy sat at the edge of Kenna’s bunk. She had to sense the tension - it would have been impossible _not_ to - and wisely elected to keep some distance between them. The old woman pressed her thin lips together as she wrestled with what to say. 

“I know you don’t understand yet, but you’ll see that I had a very good reason for the things I’ve done.”

Kenna crossed her arms. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

Not that a good apology would have helped her. There was nothing she could say that would ever mend the gaping holes in Kenna’s trust she’d created.

“I have no need to apologize for saving your life. The Collapse is coming, and soon the only safe place in Hope County is going to be in a bunker,” Nancy huffed.

“You’re a little old to believe in fairy tales invented by a lunatic, aren’t you?”

“You watch your mouth when you talk about the Father, child,” Nancy scolded as she pointed a bony finger in Kenna’s face. She fought back the childish urge to bite it. She’d probably taste like sawdust, anyway. “The world is going to end, can’t you feel it? You can’t see it now because your sin clouds your judgment, but John will make you see. Once you atone, you’ll thank me for everything I did.”

“Thank you for betraying us all by warning Joseph we were coming to arrest him? Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

Nancy chuckled. “You think I warned Joseph? Child, it was the Father that warned _me_.”

Kenna furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, and Nancy continued.

“Father Joseph warned me that four horsemen would follow the white horse, setting off events that would bring about the Collapse. Those four horsemen would be given a place in our family once they saw the light, and given the opportunity to walk through Eden’s Gate with us. It was obvious who the white horse was, and when I learned Earl was assembling a team of four others to arrest Joseph, well, I had to make sure you were one of those horsemen.”

Kenna crossed her arms. What was it with the Peggies and their crazy ass stories? 

“First of all, that’s a bunch of crazy talk, and second of all, you had nothing to do with it. It was pure luck - bad luck, apparently - that put me on the detail.”

“You’re smarter than that, surely you don’t believe what happened to Deputy Petty was just _luck_ ,” Nancy’s eyes gleamed as though she knew something Kenna didn’t.

She thought back to what had gotten her put on the disastrous mission in the first place. Deputy Petty had originally been named as the fifth member of the team put together for Marshal Burke’s super secret squirrel mission to arrest Joseph. But, just minutes after being named, before they could even make it to the meeting room for the briefing, Petty had stumbled into Whitehorse’s office, chasing a jackalope hallucination while arguing with a voice in her head about green fog. It had made absolutely no sense. 

The rumor was Petty was so stressed out about the impending raid that she had done bath salts or LSD, but that didn’t make sense, either. Petty’s desk was right across from Kenna’s, she would have noticed if she’d done narcotics. All she had done was drink some of the herbal tea Nancy had brought her to calm her nerves-

Realization slowly dawned on her. Kenna’s eyes shot back up to Nancy’s overly-smug face.

“It was you.” It wasn’t a question.

Nancy shrugged, no evidence of guilt whatsoever in her body language. “It wasn’t a lethal dose, I’m not a monster. I made sure it was just enough to make sure she was sidelined so you could take her place.”

“But you couldn’t have known Whitehorse would pick me,” she sputtered. “He could have chosen any other deputy, he could have-”

“You forget I make the schedule, dear. No one else was available, I made sure of it.”

Kenna could only stare open-mouthed as she tried to wrap her head around the depths of Nancy’s treachery.

“Poor Earl was just beside himself, having to put you on the team. Said no Sheriff in his right mind would put a brand-new rookie on such a dangerous job,” she placed a mocking hand to her heart. “I convinced him you could handle it, after all, nothing here will be any worse than what Nathaniel-”

The feeble leash she had around her rage snapped. Kenna’s fist launched forward, making contact with the traitorous woman’s nose. Nancy shrieked as her hands flailed up to protect herself from any further assault.

It was bad enough when she thought Nancy had betrayed them by telling Joseph they were coming, giving him time to plan his escape. But to find out Nancy had known what was coming all along? That she had not only known, but had literally poisoned a colleague to ensure that Kenna could be offered to her batshit crazy cult as the sacrificial lamb? 

And using Kenna’s past as justification that she could handle it. The bitch  _knew_ what she had been through, and was still fine with making her relive her past. She was right that nothing John could do would be worse than what she’d already been through, but it was close enough.

“Get. Out.” Kenna hissed through clenched teeth as her whole body shook with an explosion of wrath trying to force its way out of her. She couldn’t hold it back much longer. 

Nancy wisely took her advice, shuffling towards the door, where Tattooed Asshole had appeared in response to the noise. 

“You deserve every bit of whatever John does to you,” she sneered, her words muffled by the hand over her nose.

The perpetually pissed off guard looked at Nancy in shock as he stared after her. When he turned his gaze back on Kenna, his face had contorted into a grotesque mask of anger. The temperature in the room felt like it dropped twenty degrees. He stalked towards her, fists clenched, and she could see the writing on the wall. Retreating backwards only prolonged the inevitable, and her back quickly met the cold, concrete wall behind her.

There was nowhere to go; she was stuck in here like a rat in a cage.

“I don’t suppose you want to avoid messing up my pretty face again?” She joked weakly.

As expected, her plea didn’t do a damn thing to change his course. He was an asshole, after all. His fist connected with the side of her skull, and she was welcomed into blessed blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't be so happy over writing about an old woman getting punched in the face, but it was so freaking cathartic to get a chance to deal Fuckin' Nancy some literary justice. And now literary justice is my new favorite phrase.


End file.
